


It's Time to Leave (And Turn to Dust)

by zukkababey



Series: we found love ‘verse [3]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Chuck Lives, Established Relationship, M/M, Teresa Agnes and Thomas (Maze Runner) are Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 72,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24648010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zukkababey/pseuds/zukkababey
Summary: God, does Thomas hate WICKED. How dare they rip him away from his family, from Minho, all for an experiment. And for what? To study him? Why couldn’t they just say that? Why did they have to lock him in a colourless room with no word of warning, not even allowing him to say good-bye?WICKED is good? Yeah right, Teresa.-Or, the third installment of the We Found Love series. Occurs directly after Strike the Sky (Until the Sun Bows).
Relationships: Minho/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Series: we found love ‘verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751689
Comments: 34
Kudos: 99





	It's Time to Leave (And Turn to Dust)

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Here we are! I started the first fic in this series in the summer of 2016 on my phone, while I was on a road trip with my family. Who knew that self-isolation for a few months would lead me to not only finish the first part, but then go on to complete the next two! I hope all of you have enjoyed reading this series, I know that I have certainly enjoyed writing it.
> 
> (Also someone please tell me why this part is longer than BOTH part one and two combined.... I have no explanation. I am.... so sorry.)
> 
> Once again, the inspiration for this fic comes from solely the books, but it will hopefully still be easy to understand if you've only watched the movies. 
> 
> Title comes from To Build a Home (ft. Patrick Watson) by the Cinematic Orchestra.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

He’d like to say that missing Minho is what finally drives him mad.

Thomas doesn’t know exactly how long he’s been stuck in this white room for, but he’s guessing about three weeks. WICKED had taken his watch when they’d changed his clothes, so he doesn’t know for sure. But they keep his schedule somewhat consistent – meals never at the same time, but three every day, without fail. Ham, mashed potatoes, vegetables. A glass of room-temperature water. They slide the trays through a slot at the bottom of the door.

Thomas hasn’t seen another human being in three weeks.

Hasn’t seen _Minho_ in three weeks.

The Scorch Trial notwithstanding, Thomas has seen Minho every single day for the past _two years_.

But, in the end, missing him is not what drives him crazy.

Because he knows that Minho is alive. Minho is a part of the Trials just as much as Thomas is, and Thomas would bet his freedom that Minho is going through his own shuck version of whatever Trial this isolation room is supposed to be.

The Maze had been meant to weed out the boys that would give up in the face of hopelessness. Thomas guesses this white prison is meant to simulate much of the same thing. How will he react to being separated from his friends, his _family,_ and being put into a room with no exit? Stuck at the mercy of an evil corporation?

WICKED wants to study his brain, to see how he’ll react in the face of yet another experiment. So what will happen if he gives them nothing to study? It’s the closest thing he can get to rebellion without launching a full-blown escape.

For the first several days, Thomas refuses to help WICKED in any way, shape, or form. He stays in the corner of the room. Sitting, waiting. He gets up to eat and go to the bathroom, then goes straight back to the corner. WICKED hadn’t even given him a _bed_ , so he doesn’t expect to be in this room for more than a week.

But by the tenth day, Thomas starts to lose hope that they’ll ever let him out.

He thinks about Brenda, about her warning that things were going to get bad. He’s come to terms that Brenda and Jorge must have been planted in that Scorch town by WICKED. They were never Cranks at all – just employees meant to deliver the Gladers straight to WICKED’s doorstep.

But how badis _bad_ supposed to be? Ten days in complete isolation would make anyone crazy in the head. How much longer is he supposed to last in here?

He thinks about Teresa, about what she had told him before Thomas shut her out of his mind.

_They took you away as soon as the Berg landed. They kept telling us it was too late, that the Flare is already rooted deep inside you. They said you’ve gotten crazy and violent._

Maybe he _is_ going crazy. He’s not violent, at least not yet. But he can’t count the times he’s wanted to knock over that wooden desk, break off one of the legs, use it to stab his way out of here. He doesn’t even know how he’d do it, but that doesn’t stop him from dreaming about it.

Had Teresa been telling the truth? Does he have the Flare and WICKED really is just containing him for his own safety? For everyone’s safety?

Each time the thought rises to the forefront of his mind, he squashes it down brutally. This is just another Trial. Phase Three. It _has_ to be.

Teresa has probably been working for WICKED the entire time, had told him that he’d been passed out for a week just to mess with his mind. She said that he had the Flare to plant the seed of niggling doubt in his brain while he’s locked in here with nothing but his own thoughts for company.

He’d kill for some company right about now.

Which makes him think of Minho again. He’s probably not dead, but who knows what kind of Trial WICKED is forcing him through. Maybe he’s isolated too, same as Thomas. God, Minho would _hate_ that. He hopes Minho is going through something different, even though there’s the possibility of it being ten times worse.

When Thomas wakes up on the eleventh day, he’s done trying to stick it to WICKED. He just needs to feel a semblance of control over his own life. He runs in place for hours, does one hundred push-ups, drinks the water they give him greedily, then does a hundred more. He checks the drawers of the desk, as he’s done the previous ten days, but this time with renewed vigor. It’s like now that Thomas is back in the game, he expects WICKED to comply accordingly. Give him _something_ to do now that he’s finally doing what they want.

By the end of the second week, Thomas has a routine down. Wake up, eat breakfast – even though it’s still the same shuckin’ plate of ham, potatoes, and vegetables – exercise, miss Minho, eat lunch, miss Chuck, exercise some more, miss Newt, eat dinner, hate WICKED.

And _god,_ does he hate WICKED. How dare they rip him away from his family, from _Minho_ , all for an _experiment_. And for what? To study him? Why couldn’t they just _say_ that? Why did they have to lock him in a colourless room with no word of warning, not even allowing him to say _good-bye?_

WICKED is good? Yeah right, Teresa.

But still, no matter how much he misses Minho, it’s not what sends him spiraling deeper into insanity.

He _stinks_.

WICKED had given him a toilet, tucked away in the opposite corner of the room, almost hidden away. But no shower. No shower for _twenty-one days_. And he really, truly reeks.

It’s gotten so bad that Thomas hasn’t put his shirt on in two days. The exercise hadn’t helped, once he started – working up a sweat had been the only thing to make him feel a hint of normalcy. The one time he uses one of the glasses of water to wash his body with his discarded shirt, they don’t give him water again for two days.

So he supposes they didn’t give him a shower exactly for this purpose. To drive him insane. And it’s buggin’ working.

He spends the next five days doing the same routine, stinking all the while. Eat, exercise, miss his family, hate WICKED.

On the twenty-sixth day, the door opens.

~||~

Thomas has imagined this moment in so many different ways, countless times. In one version, it’s Minho at the door, telling him to get off his butt because they _need to_ _move, now!_ In another more morbid version, it’s Newt and Chuck, telling him that Minho didn’t make it but they’re finally about to get out, escape WICKED’s clutches. Sometimes Teresa makes an appearance, but Thomas can never figure out if she’d be on his side or not, if he actually would trust her if it came down to it.

In the end, it’s Rat Man who waltzes in through the door with a folder in one hand and a matching chair to the desk in the other. Thomas watches Rat Man set himself up from his spot in the corner of the room – he sets the papers down, positions the chair correctly, and finally turns back to close the door behind him.

“Wow,” Rat Man says as he sits down, flattening his hands over the papers splayed across the desk. He’s wearing the same white suit he wore when he came to tell the Gladers about the second Trial. “It really does stink in here, doesn’t it?”

Thomas just stares.

“Oh, do lighten up, Thomas. It’s a wonderful day!”

When Thomas opens his mouth to reply, he realizes that he hasn’t spoken in almost a month. His voice comes out hoarse and cracked. “It’ll only be a wonderful day if you let me out of here.”

“Yes, yes,” Rat Man says. “You’ll get your shower in due time. You even will be reunited with your friends. With Minho.”

Thomas sneers at him, hating the way Minho’s name sounds in his pathetic nasally tone.

“Then tell me what you came here to tell me, and we can get on our way,” Thomas says, voice carefully controlled.

Rat Man looks at him, long and hard. “You have to know that everything has been done here – from your conversation to Teresa, to being locked in here alone, to having the same three meals everyday – was to stimulate patterns in the killzone. Every bit of this room has been part of the Trials. Phase Three.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Rat Man looks surprised. “No questions?”

Oh, Thomas has so many questions that his brain feels like it’s going to explode. But he doesn’t trust one word that’s coming out of this guy’s mouth. “Nope. Continue on.”

Rat Man narrows his eyes. “Thomas, this isn’t going to work if you don’t believe me.”

“In what world would I believe you?” The words spring out of him, hot and unbidden. “You’ve done nothing but _lie_ from the very beginning. You told us that there would be a Safe Haven, and that _Safe Haven_ turned out to be a buggin’ _stick_. You said there would be a cure waiting for us, and guess what? _There’s no cure._ WICKED picked us up in that shiny Berg and told us that the tests were _over_. And here I am, being tested on. Can you see why _I don’t believe you?”_

Rat Man looks at him, his face in a poor imitation of pity. “Oh, Thomas. I have never lied to you. There _will_ be a cure. You and your friends have made sure of that. Your help has been invaluable. We did have to push you all a little farther to reach the patterns we were satisfied with, but this is all to save the human race. It’s a noble cause – everything that has been done to you has been for a purpose. Some might call it cruel, but I call it necessary. It’s for something much bigger than you. Than all of us.”

Thomas scoffs. “Whatever. Just tell me what you came in here to tell me so I can take a shower.”

“I could leave you in here another week,” Rat Man says. “See if that does anything to make you more willing to listen.”

“Sure,” Thomas says. “Go for it.”

They stare at each other, a face-off that Thomas won’t lose. Rat Man stays sitting.

“Oh, right,” Thomas laughs mockingly. “You _can’t_. Won’t that mess up your precious experiments?”

Rat Man is quiet for a long time. Thomas glares at him while he shuffles through all his papers before finally closing the folder and setting it aside.

Hmm. Going off script then, apparently. It’s probably just another part of the act.

“You were supposed to be the equivalent of Rachel in Group B,” Rat Man says finally. “I assume you know this already – you talked with Aris yourself in the dormitory when you compared Mazes. You were meant to come up a day before Teresa, maybe stay around two weeks or less in the Glade before escaping. But instead, you were there for _two years_. You built yourself a family, became much closer to all the Gladers than originally expected. So I can understand why you are so reluctant to believe me now after all you have been through.” He stands up from his chair, skirting around the desk to lean on the front of it. “But we have nothing left to hide from you, Thomas. There’s nothing for us to gain by keeping you and your friends in the dark any longer. Everything will be explained.”

“Then _explain_ it,” Thomas says.

“You have to trust that what I say is true,” Rat Man says. “Can you do that?”

Thomas sighs. He just wants to take a shower. Hug Minho. See the other Gladers again.

“Alright,” Thomas says, trying to look relaxed and amenable. He still doesn’t fully trust Rat Man, but he came off too strong earlier. He’ll pretend he believes just to get out of this shuck room. “I’ll listen.”

“Perfect.” Rat Man opens up the folder again, scanning the pages before looking back at Thomas. “Shall I start back at the beginning?”

Thomas barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Just pick up where you left off.”

“Right,” Rat Man says. “This has all been part of a plan that you helped set in place, along with your sister. Of course, some things have been different,” Rat Man looks at him pointedly, “but everything has stayed true to the original views of the Creators, even after they were… purged.”

A flash of a memory-dream comes to the surface of his mind, the one of him and Teresa surrounded by computer monitors. Teresa had said _I can’t believe they’re all dead,_ and Thomas had responded _We knew it would happen._ Something about training their replacements.

Thomas knows that he and Teresa had worked with WICKED, that he had been on their side in the beginning. But they must know that Thomas wants nothing to do with them now. That was the whole point of having Teresa betray him, right? Thomas hugs his knees tighter to his chest, waiting for Rat Man to continue.

“You’re obviously well aware of the mind-eating disease ravaging the human population worldwide, you’ve seen it firsthand in the Scorch. Everything that has been done to you thus far has been to analyze your brain patterns and build a blueprint from it. This blueprint will be used to create the cure for the Flare.” Rat Man takes a breath. “The lives lost, the pain and the suffering – you knew the stakes when this began. It’s been done to ensure the survival of the human race. And we’re close. We’re _very_ close.”

“I remember enough to be ashamed of myself,” Thomas says. “But living through this abuse is a lot different than planning it. It’s just not right.”

“You once believed that this would work, Thomas. That the end justified the means. Isn’t losing the lives of the few worth it to save countless more?”

Thomas looks up at that. “ _Forty-seven._ ”

Rat Man raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“Forty-seven Gladers. And who knows how many girls from Group B. You watched us _die_ , you sadistic shank. How can the torture and the _deaths_ of innocent teenagers create a blueprint for a cure?”

Rat Man just shakes his head, like he’s disappointed in Thomas’ answer. “It has _everything_ to do with it. Don’t worry, you’ll get your memories back soon, and I think you’ll regret a lot. In the meantime, there’s something you need to know. It might even bring you back to your senses.”

“Oh, yeah?” Thomas says. “And what would that be?”

Rat Man stands up, smoothing down his white trousers and buttoning his jacket up. He clasps his hands behind his back. “The Flare virus lives in every part of your body, and yet it has no effect on you, nor will it ever. You’re a member of an extremely rare group of people. You’re _immune_ to the Flare.”

~||~

Thomas is speechless.

His mind is flying at a thousand miles a second, but it keeps on landing back at one glaring thought.

It makes sense.

Why would WICKED steal him and Teresa from their parents, implant telepathy into their brains, and recruit them to design the Maze if not because they were _immune?_

Thomas hates that it makes sense. That he believes what Rat Man is saying.

“I see that you believe me,” Rat Man says, breaking the long silence. “Once we discovered that there were people like you – immune to the Flare – we recruited the best and the brightest. This is how WICKED was born. Of course, there are some of you that _aren’t_ immune – for an experiment to work, there must be a control group. You understand.”

Thomas’ brain catches on the fact that some people _aren’t immune_ – Minho. Is Minho immune? Or is he destined to slowly descend into madness, with nothing Thomas can do to help him? Fear spreads through him like an invasive chill.

“Not…” Thomas manages. “Who–?”

“Who isn’t immune?” Rat Man interrupts with a smirk. “Worried about a special someone, are you? Well, I think that he should know before you, don’t you agree?”

Thomas is tempted to force the answer out of him, wrap his fingers around Rat Man’s neck and choke the truth out of his shuck mouth. There would probably be enough time before someone came to break them apart.

Rat Man must be able to see something in his eyes, because he says, “Don’t try anything. We’re being watched. Harm me, and there will be consequences.”

Thomas grits his teeth. “Fine.”

Rat Man claps his hands together. “Well! First things first. Let’s get you a shower. I’ll be surprised if my sense of smell hasn’t disintegrated after being in this room for so long.”

~||~

Rat Man leads him out of his white prison and to a bathroom as promised, telling him that once he’s done, Thomas is to sit tight and wait for Rat Man to return.

Thomas heads straight for the shower, bypassing the locker room and new clothes laid out for him. He just wants to be clean again.

He scrubs himself five times over under scalding water, until his skin is red and raw but smelling faintly of green apple and citrus.

The clothes he puts on smell fresh, like they’ve been washed recently. After wearing the same clothes for the past month, they feel like heaven against his skin.

As Thomas pulls on the t-shirt, he notices in the mirror the tattoo that he’d been branded with before the second Trial. _Property of WICKED_ and _To be killed by Group B_ are stark against his pale skin, a permanent reminder of what he’s been through. What _WICKED’s_ put him through. He wishes they would remove it, make the tattoo disappear magically the same way it had appeared.

On some level, Thomas wants to forget everything that’s happened. But he knows that those experiences have made him into who he is today – into someone who isn’t going to let WICKED get away with what they’ve done. He won’t change that for anything.

Thomas waits outside the door once he’s dressed like Rat Man told him to do, alone in the empty halls. It seems to be a nondescript building and interior – beige plaster, fluorescent lights, artwork that looks like it belongs on the walls of a motel.

He tries not to feel grateful that if he’s been left to fend for himself in yet another Trial, at least they let him take a buggin’ shower first.

But Rat Man turns the corner a moment later, holding what looks like a tablet under one arm. He gestures towards Thomas, indicating for him to follow. Thomas does, knowing he has to play along. Right now, he wants two things and two things only: information, and to find his friends. He’s going to need both if he has any chance of getting out of here.

“When do I get to see my friends?” Thomas asks, a step behind Rat Man.

“Right now,” Rat Man says. His tone turns professional as he walks further into the building, tapping away on his tablet without even looking up. “All of you went through different types of tests for Phase Three of the Trials. We’d hoped to have all the brain patterns mapped out by the end of the second Trial, so we had to improvise. In the coming weeks, you will all be full partners, helping us dig deeper until we solve this puzzle. Find a cure for the Flare.”

Thomas stays quiet until Rat Man comes to a door, not even hesitating before he pushes it open.

A wave of relief washes over Thomas – the Gladers and Group B are all sitting around and talking. Thomas spots Minho immediately, chatting with Newt and Frypan who sit across from him. Chuck is with a couple of girls from Group B and another Glader at a different table. One of the girls laugh at whatever Chuck just said. Brenda and Jorge aren’t among them, which only reinforces Thomas’ idea that they had been part of WICKED from the start.

When Thomas finds Teresa among the other teenagers, she’s already looking straight at him. But he doesn’t have to figure out what to do or say to her just yet, because there’s the screech of a chair against the concrete floor, and the room goes silent.

“Thomas,” Minho breathes, face slack and mouth parted slightly. Thomas notices that the scar splitting his eyebrow in two has healed quite a bit in the time they’ve been apart. Minho crosses the space between them in three long strides, pulling Thomas close, wrapping him up in a huge hug.

“Are you okay?” Thomas says, arms tight around Minho’s back. “What’d they do to you?”

“I’m fine, I’m okay. What about you?”

Thomas draws back slightly. “I’ll tell you later. God, I’m so happy to see you,” he says.

His hands move to cradle Minho’s face, pulling him closer to press their lips together. The kiss is short and sweet, both boys mindful of all the other teenagers in the room, especially the beady gaze of Rat Man from behind them. They pull away just as Chuck lets out a loud wolf whistle – some of the girls even join in on the cheers and catcalls – laughing as they go.

Rat Man doesn’t look pleased. “Touching,” he sneers.

“Thanks, man,” Minho says, smiling toothily.

“Ugh,” Rat Man says, turning away.

Then Newt and Chuck are suddenly there, followed by Frypan. Chuck dives in between Thomas and Minho to pull Thomas into his own hug, squeezing tight. Thomas wraps his arms around Chuck’s back, squeezing just as hard.

Thomas feels a clap on his shoulder from Newt. “Glad to see you didn’t roll over and die, Tommy.” He sounds grumpier than usual, but who knows what Newt went through during his version of Phase Three.

“The mighty Gladers all back together again,” Minho says with a smirk, but he has a hard glint in his eye, and Thomas knows he’s been through an awful time as well. “I’m glad to see you shanks alive and well.” As Thomas and Chuck step away from each other, Minho hooks an arm around Chuck’s neck and yanks him closer, reaching a hand over to mess up Chuck’s hair. “Bet ya cried every night, missin’ me, didn’t ya Chuckie?”

Chuck bends almost in half as he tries to push away Minho’s offending hands, laughing hard, cheeks turning bright red. “Nah, that was all Thomas,” he manages.

“Hey,” Thomas says, fake offended.

“Don’t try to pretend you didn’t, Thomas,” Frypan chuckles from beside Newt. “We know the truth.”

“Words hurt, Frypan,” Thomas says, pressing his hand to his heart as if he’s insulted.

“Tom.”

The voice comes from behind Thomas, and even if he didn’t see the way the other boys’ faces shut down completely, he knows the voice belongs to Teresa.

Thomas turns around, coming face to face with her. She glances behind him, and Thomas feels the press of a shoulder against his, knows that it’s Minho backing him up.

“Hey,” Thomas finally replies.

“You okay?” Teresa asks.

Thomas shrugs. “I guess. It’s been a rough few weeks.”

She reaches forward to grab his arm, but drops her hand when Minho growls at her. “I tried contacting you every day, Tom. I even gave Minho your message,” she says, nodding back to Minho. “They cut off the telepathy not long after that. But I think it’s all been worth it.”

All been worth it?Even after everything they’ve been through, Teresa is still on WICKED’s side. Thomas can’t believe it. Whatever relationship him and Teresa had before, it doesn’t mean anything now. She can’t just get away with what she did to him, what she did to all the Gladers.

In that moment, he resolves to trust no one except Minho, Newt, and Chuck.

Teresa opens her mouth like she’s going to say something else, but then Rat Man steps over to them, and her lips press closed.

“Reunion time is over,” he announces. “Everybody sit down. We’ve got a few things to cover before we remove the Swipe.”

~||~

The Swipe.

Thomas remembers bits and pieces from before he entered the Maze, so he knows that the Swipe is the process they used to remove everyone’s memories before they were sent up in the Box.

And now WICKED is going to give them their memories _back_? That doesn’t make any sense. It seems… too easy.

Mind spinning, Thomas sits down next to Minho where the other boys had been sitting before. Chuck wedges himself in beside Thomas.

Rat Man steps up onto the stage at the front of the room and walks over to the podium. Gripping the edge, he says, “That’s right, ladies and gents. You’re about to get your memories back.”

Silence descends over the room of teenagers. Someone coughs.

“The Trials as you know them are over,” Rat Man begins. “Once your memories are restored, you’ll believe me and we can move on. You’ve all been briefed on the Flare and what we are doing to create the cure. There’s only a few more things to do, more patterns to blueprint until we’re done. What we need to do will be better served by your full cooperation and unaltered minds. So, congratulations.”

“I oughta come up there and break your shuck nose,” Minho says. His voice is terrifyingly calm considering the threat in the words. “I’m sick of you acting like everything is _fine_ when more than half of our friends _died_.”

“I’d love to see that rat nose smashed!” Newt snaps in agreement, and a few of the other Gladers cheer from behind them. Thomas is startled by Newt’s outburst – threats of bodily harm to people of authority is usually Minho’s schtick.

The Rat Man just sighs and shakes his head. “We’re all being watched – as I’ve told plenty of you already, harm me and there will be consequences. And I’m sorry about your friends, but in the end, it’ll all be worth it. It seems that nothing I can say will make you all understand the gravity of the situation – this is about the survival of the human race.”

Minho sucks in a breath as if he’s about to go off on a long rant, but Thomas places a hand on his thigh, pressing down with his fingertips. Minho’s jaw clacks shut.

“Why should we even listen to you?” Frypan speaks up. “Why would we believe anything you’re trying to tell us?”

“Let’s just listen to what he has to say,” Thomas says tiredly.

“WICKED is good,” Teresa mutters.

“What?” Frypan asks. Everyone turns to face her.

“WICKED is good,” she repeats, spinning her chair around to look back at all the staring faces. “It’s something I remembered from the coma I was in back in the Maze. I keep on thinking about it. It has to mean something. I think we should listen and see what he has to say.”

“I agree!” Aris says, way too loudly.

Thomas rolls his eyes as arguments break out all around him. Some people agree with Frypan, others are siding with Teresa.

“Silence!” Rat Man shouts, pounding on the podium to get their attention. “You have all been pushed to your very limits, been subjected to horrific sights, watched your friends die. But if you all get your memories back, I think it will be clear as to why–”

“What if we don’t want to?” Frypan calls out. “What if we don’t want our memories back?”

Thomas looks across to Frypan, relieved that he didn’t have to be the one to say it. He’s been thinking the exact same thing. Thomas has remembered a few things from his past, mostly of him and Teresa growing up in the clutches of WICKED – nothing about Minho or any of the other Gladers – and as much as he wants to remember the boy that prompted him to drop everything to enter the Maze two years too early, he’s also terrified at what he might learn about himself. About the kind of person he must have been if he designed the Maze and developed all those shuckin’ Variables, if he’s the reason so many of his friends _died_.

Rat Man looks down his nose at Frypan. “Is it because you really have no interest in getting your memories back, or because you don’t trust us?”

“Oh, I can’t _imagine_ why we wouldn’t trust you,” Frypan responds.

Rat Man’s mouth forms a thin line. “If you don’t want the Swipe removed, then don’t do it. We won’t force you.”

Thomas is surprised by this. They’re really giving them a choice? It has to be a trick.

Again, the room goes silent. Rat Man steps down off the stage and starts walking down the aisle to the back of the room. He stops before he pushes through the door. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your lives with no memory of your family? Your friends? You’ll be losing the chance at any happy memories you had before all this happened. Whatever you choose, fine by me. But you might never have this opportunity again.”

Thomas considers Rat Man’s words. He would love to remember his parents, his mother and father. He wonders if he has any other siblings, ones that maybe weren’t immune like Thomas and Teresa and weren’t taken away by WICKED. He wants to remember Minho _so bad_ it’s almost a physical ache in his chest, but he knows that he’s not going to fall into another trap. He’ll fight to the death before he lets anyone near his brain again. Besides, how would he be able to trust if any of the memories were actually true?

As Rat Man leaves, Thomas leans forward so only his friends can hear him. “There’s no way we do this. No way.”

Chuck and Frypan nod in agreement.

Minho squeezes Thomas’ shoulder. “Agreed. Even if I _could_ trust these shanks, I don’t know if I _want_ to remember, after what it did to Alby.”

Minho looks over to Newt at that, and Newt just nods grimly. “We need to make a move soon. I’ll feel better if I get to knock a few heads together.”

“Not _too_ soon, though,” Thomas says. “We can’t screw this up. We need to wait for our best chance.”

With everyone on the same page, they rise from the table and make their way to the door as a group. But as they walk, Thomas can hear snippets of conversation from the other teenagers, and his heart sinks. It seems that the rest of them have decided to get their memories back.

~||~

Rat Man leads the group of boys and girls through several hallways, flashing his keycard at the last two doors to let them through. As they step through the opening, Thomas grits his teeth at the sterile whiteness – if he goes the rest of his life without seeing an all white room ever again, he’ll die a happy man. There are beds lining the walls, each with a menacing-looking contraption in the shape of a mask looming above them, fashioned out of plastic tubes and wiring.

Thomas stares. He can’t imagine letting that thing get close to his face. No shuckin’ way.

Rat Man explains how the process will work – that it won’t hurt that much, but to remember that it _is_ a surgery. Apparently, there have been devices implanted into their brains at the start of all this, and the Swipe will remove them, even the parts that allow WICKED to control them and the telepathy that Thomas, Teresa, and Aris share.

Thomas isn’t going to lie – the prospect of having WICKED out of his brain for good, Teresa too, it’s enticing. But it sounds too good to be true. He’ll have to let WICKED in there first, and Thomas feels sick at the very idea of it.

But before they’re left to make their final choices, Rat Man speaks up once again. “There is one last thing. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’re you talking about?” Harriet asks.

“Some of you are immune to the Flare. Some of you aren’t. I’m going to read through a list, so please do your best to take it calmly.”

~||~

“For an experiment to provide accurate results, we needed a control group,” Rat Man continues. “We did our best to keep the virus from you for as long as possible, but it is airborne and highly contagious.”

“Cut the drama,” Sonya calls. “Just tell us.”

“Very well. Most of you _are_ immune, and have helped us gather invaluable data. There are only three candidates now, but we’ll get into that later. The following people are _not_ immune…”

A sickening fear spreads through Thomas. He knows that he’s immune – at least, he’d been told he was, but what about Chuck? Newt? _Minho?_

Thomas glances over to Minho to find him looking straight back at him. The worry and concern that Thomas feels is mirrored perfectly on Minho’s face. He doesn’t know how they got so separated on the journey here, but now Thomas weaves his way through the teenagers and towards Minho as Rat Man starts reading the names.

They’ve just laced their hands together when the name _Newt_ is called out, and the din in the room silences, cut out like Thomas has just been shoved underwater. Thomas tries to comprehend the information as he starts gasping for breath. _Newt?_ No. It has to be a trick. Another Variable. No way the bright, energetic, jubilant kid that came up in the Box over two years ago is destined to succumb to a horrific brain-eating disease, to slowly and determinedly spiral deeper into insanity. WICKED has practically handed him a death sentence, just to see what would happen.

Sound rushes back in, and Rat Man is looking over the group of teenagers, evidently done reading the list. Thomas can hear a girl crying, others talking over the sobs. Oh god, he didn’t even hear the rest of the names.

Thomas squeezes Minho’s hand, turning to him. “You?”

Minho must have noticed that Thomas had tuned out, stunned at the revelation of Newt not being immune, because he gives him a short rundown. “I’m immune,” Minho says immediately. “Three of the boys aren’t immune, Newt included. Chuck’s immune, same with Frypan. It was mostly the girls. There’s more of em’.”

Thomas can barely feel relief about Minho and Chuck being immune over the devastating news about Newt. “Oh, my god, _Newt,_ ” Thomas whispers.

“You slim it nice and calm, Tommy,” Newt says as he walks up, sounding annoyed. “It’s fine.”

“It’s _fine?_ ” Chuck pipes up, following behind. “Newt–”

“I’m not scared of the bloody Flare, guys. Honestly, I’m surprised I even lived this buggin’ long.” He crosses his arms. “It’s not like it’s been a great life anyways.”

“ _Newt,_ ” Thomas says, voice hard.

“What do you want me to say, Tommy?” Newt says. “So what if I’m not immune? Let’s all put on our big boy pants and get over it.”

They’re all silent for a moment, but then Chuck claps a hand to Newt’s shoulder, a silent display of solidarity. Newt takes in the subdued faces of his friends – Thomas looks down at the floor, but Minho gives Newt a small nod, mouth twisting.

“Good that,” Newt says.

Rat Man chooses this time to speak back up. “I’ve told you this to remind you all that we are working towards a cure. Most of you that are not immune are still in the early stages of the Flare. With your full cooperation, I have every confidence that you will be taken care of before it goes too far. But the Trials required your participation.”

“And what if you don’t figure things out?” Minho asks. The threat in the words is clear.

Rat Man doesn’t even bother responding. Instead, he walks over to the nearest bed and starts talking about the device that will give them their memories back. The intimidating apparatus is apparently called a Retractor, and it was specifically designed to remove the mechanism in their brain that has been affecting their long-term memory and letting WICKED control them. Rat Man explains that micro wires will be able to reach their brain through the ear canal, and that the nurses will give them a sedative to ease any discomfort.

Thomas’ distrust skyrockets.

“Give me a few moments to make sure the medical teams are ready,” Rat Man says. “Use this time to make your final decisions.”

As he leaves, the steel door slotting closed behind him, the room erupts in hasty conversation.

Teresa walks over to join their circle, and while Minho doesn’t exactly look happy about it, he says to her, “You and Thomas know more about WICKED than anybody else here. I’ve never made it a secret – I don’t like you. But I want to hear what you have to say.”

Thomas almost doesn’t think that’s necessary – he knows exactly what Teresa is going to say. She’s going to side with WICKED.

“We should do it,” she says immediately, and Thomas isn’t surprised at all. A tiny part of him had maybe hoped she would want to fight back against WICKED, join Thomas’ side, but now that hope is gone for good. “We need our memories back if we’re going to be smart about things and decide what we’re going to do next.”

“Teresa,” Thomas says. “I know you’re not stupid. But I also know that for some ungodly reason, you’re in love with WICKED, even after everything they’ve done. What are you up to? I’m not buying what you’re selling.”

“Me neither,” Minho agrees. “They have the power to manipulate our brains! How would we even know if the memories they give us are our own or some shuck new ones?”

Teresa shakes her head, and she seems like she’s getting frustrated. “You guys are missing the point! This will _remove_ any ability for WICKED to control us. Plus, if they can make us do whatever they want, why would they do this whole charade of giving us a choice? It feels legit to me.”

Newt speaks up then. “What about Aris? Tommy told us you two worked together before the Maze. What does he think?”

Thomas finds Aris across the room, chatting with a group of girls from Group B. As much as he knows that Aris has been as much as a pawn in WICKED’s games as Thomas has, Thomas still is unable to forgive him for the part he played in Teresa’s betrayal – luring him into that shuck mountain cave and throwing him into the gas chamber.

“I’ll go ask him,” Teresa volunteers.

Five boys watch as Teresa crosses the room, descending into furious whispers with Aris’ group.

“Thomas, I know she’s your sister and all, but _god._ I _hate_ that chick,” Minho says with feeling. “Can’t believe I ever liked her.”

“Is she really so bad?” Frypan asks, then holds up his hands in immediate surrender as Minho glares daggers at him.

“Do I have to remind you what she did to Thomas?” Minho snaps.

“Sorry, sorry,” Frypan says. “Shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re goddamn right, Frypan,” Minho replies. He turns to the rest of the boys. “If she’s doing it, I’m not.”

“Same here,” Newt agrees. “And I’m the one who supposedly has the bloody Flare, so I have more at stake here than anybody. But I’m not falling for another trick.”

No one asks for Thomas’ opinion – they know his feelings on this will side with Minho, but Thomas nods along anyways. They all look over at Chuck, who’s been silent this entire time.

“Chuck?” Thomas prompts.

Chuck hesitates. “The kid that came up in the Box all those years ago, the one that wanted to know his mom…” he trails off, shaking his head. “That kid’s gone. And Thomas, if you don’t think it’s a good idea, then I believe you. I’m with you a hundred percent.”

Thomas and Chuck share a long look, and Thomas squeezes Chuck’s shoulder.

“Ah, man,” Frypan says, interrupting the moment. “We can’t let them put those shuck things on our faces, can we? I’d just be happy back in my kitchen at the Homestead, I swear I would.”

Thomas has a moment of reminiscing about Frypan’s dinners after a long day of running in the Maze – _god,_ they were good – before Minho cuts in. “You forget about the Grievers, dude?”

Frypan pauses, then says, “They never messed with me in the kitchen, now did they?”

Minho laughs at that. “Guess not.”

“Hold up, Teresa’s coming back over,” Thomas says. They all fall silent as Teresa makes her way closer – her conversation with Aris had been short.

“He sounded even more sure than us,” Teresa relays. “They’re all for it.”

“Well that settles it for me,” Minho answers. “If Teresa and Aris are for it, I’m against it.”

Thomas couldn’t have said it better himself – he’s also suspicious of why Teresa wants to do the procedure so badly. Teresa looks over at him, and her expression is one he knows well. She expects him to side with her. He just stares at her, blank and unforgiving. Her face falls.

“Fine,” she says as she walks away. “Suit yourselves.”

Frypan pats Thomas on the back, then turns to talk to another group of Gladers, leaving the four of them in their little circle.

“I’m tired of bloody arguments,” Newt says, ferocity seeping into his tone. “I’m not getting on one of those beds.”

“Me neither,” Minho agrees, and Chuck echoes a similar sentiment.

Thomas nods. “We’ll stick around, play along and act nice,” he whispers. “But as soon as we get a chance, we’re fighting out of this place.”

~||~

Minho and the others have no time to reply before Rat Man returns, but Thomas knows that they’re with him, that they agree fully.

A plethora of people in white lab coats and clipboards file in behind him, and Thomas assumes these are the doctors that Rat Man mentioned earlier. They disperse around the room, stepping up to the weird metal masks above the beds, adjusting wires and turning knobs with metallic clicks.

“All of you have already been assigned a bed,” Rat Man says, tapping away on his tablet. He lists off a bunch of names and points them to a specific bed, then continues, “If your name hasn’t been called, please follow me.”

In the next room, Frypan, Newt, and Chuck’s names are called.

“I’m not doing it,” Newt says, crossing his arms. “You said you’d give us a choice, and I’m choosing _not_ to.”

“Same here,” Chuck agrees, crossing his arms as well and standing in unity with Newt.

Rat Man narrows his eyes at them, then looks down to the tablet and taps the screen a few times, mouth pursed. “Fine. We told you that you’d be allowed the choice. Just follow along and we’ll decide what to do with you once the rest are situated.”

“Frypan?” Thomas asks, realizing he hadn’t spoken up with Newt and Chuck.

“I’m, uh. I think I’m going to let them do it,” he says sheepishly.

Thomas stares at him, shocked.

“Are you crazy?” Minho says.

Frypan ducks into the room. “Hey, you guys made your choice, let me make mine,” he says, then hurries away.

Thomas and Minho exchange a disbelieving look. They’re down to four.

Rat Man doesn’t call Thomas or Minho’s name until they’re at the final door, along with Teresa, Harriet, and a couple of girls from Group B. Newt and Chuck have been the only ones to refuse the treatment.

“No thanks,” Minho says when Rat Man gestures for everyone to enter the room. “But I appreciate the invitation. Have a nice time in there.” He wiggles his fingers in a mock wave.

“I’m not doing it either,” Thomas announces. He feels a zip of anticipation rush down his spine. They’ll have to make their move soon.

Rat Man stares at Thomas for a long time. Thomas fights to keep eye contact, glaring all the while, refusing to back down.

“You okay there, Mr. Rat Man?” Minho asks.

Rat Man continues to stare directly at Thomas. Is he even blinking? “My name is Assistant Director Janson,” he replies, voice low and strained, fighting to keep calm. “You would do well to respect your elders.”

“You stop treating people like animals and maybe I’ll consider it,” Minho scoffs. He pauses, brow furrowing. “Quit looking at Thomas like that.”

Rat Man – Janson – finally breaks his and Thomas’ staring contest, cutting a glance over to Minho. “There’s a lot to consider here. But very well. We said you could choose, and we’ll stand by that. Everyone come inside while we get things ready for those willing to participate.”

Thomas’ heart is pumping – the time to fight is approaching. By the expression on the three other boys’ faces, they know it too. They all share a nod, reluctantly following the rest of the teenagers and Janson into the room.

The room is exactly like all the others – six beds line the walls, three on either side, all with the metal mask contraption fixed to the frames. Two doctors are in there waiting for them, and– Brenda? She stands next to one of the doctors, her long hair and face cleaner than Thomas ever saw them in the Scorch.

“Brenda?” Chuck says, voice faint. “I thought you were dead.”

Before Thomas can fully comprehend that Brenda is actually here, standing with them in the flesh, she’s launching herself at Chuck, hugging him tight. Confusion wars in Chuck’s eyes, but he wraps his arms around her nonetheless.

“Brenda!” Janson yells. “What are you doing! Get back to your post!”

Brenda releases Chuck, then grabs Thomas’ hand, squeezing hard. She gives him a pointed look, eyes wide, then her face smooths over as she turns back to Janson and goes back to standing with the doctors.

“Sorry, sir. Just glad to see they made it through Phase Three.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, her expression perfectly blank, like the last ten seconds didn’t even happen. “I forgot myself.”

Janson is fuming. “As if we have _time_ for such things.”

Thomas glances over to Chuck, but he’s not giving anything away, just looking at Brenda in confusion. He looks back over to Brenda, utterly bewildered. So his initial feelings had been right – she’s been working for WICKED this entire time. She had probably been sent to the Scorch with Jorge to help move the Gladers along.

But the look still confuses him, along with the warning she gave him in that dream. He still doesn’t know how she was able to do that. Is she on their side or not? The hug with Chuck had certainly been convincing on her part.

Maybe this is another Variable to get him to trust WICKED and let them poke around in his brain. But if it is, it’s not going to work. Brenda isn’t going to be enough to get him to flip on his friends.

Teresa has stepped up near Thomas, and she whispers in his ear, “What’s she doing here? I thought she was a Crank.”

“I don’t know,” Thomas answers, not willing to divulge his thoughts to her. Every little thing she does seems to annoy him to no end.

“You think she’s been a plant this whole time? Sent by WICKED to make sure things went their way?”

Thomas turns his head to look at her. “Go let them play with your brain,” he says.

Teresa just rolls her eyes. “Judge me all you want, Tom. I’m just doing what feels right, same as you.” But she steps away, waiting for Janson’s instructions.

Thomas doesn’t know how letting WICKED stick wires into her brain could ever _feel right_. But he’s coming to terms with the fact that he’ll probably never understand his sister ever again.

As Janson starts assigning the girls to the beds, Thomas glances back to the open door, wondering if they should make a break for it. He’s just about to nudge Minho when Rat Man straightens up, turning his attention back to the four boys.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” he huffs. “We’re being watched. You four try _anything_ , and there will be consequences.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Minho says.

“What consequences could there possibly be?” Newt asks.

A grin slowly stretches across Rat Man’s face, too wide and too smug. “Oh, I am _so_ glad that you asked.”

As if on cue, Thomas can hear footsteps in the hallway, and then all of a sudden four men and three women are bursting through the door. They’re dressed like they’re going to war – black tactical outfits that look bulletproof, belts and buckles probably holding gear that could take them out in two seconds flat, and that’s not even taking into account the weapon all seven of them are holding. It’s a cylinder, emitting some type of glowy blue light, the clear tube holding metal spheres that crackle and fizzle with unreleased energy. It reminds Thomas so much of the green door from the cave that he takes a step back.

“We waited too bloody long,” Newt whispers harshly.

“They would have caught us out there anyway,” Thomas says through gritted teeth, his mouth barely moving. “Just be patient.”

Janson points at the weapon, still smiling that creepy rat-like smile. “This is called a Launcher. These guards will not hesitate to fire them if you cause any trouble. It won’t kill you, but believe me when I say that it will give you the most painful five minutes of your entire life.”

“Hey, whoa,” Chuck says, holding up his hands. “You said you’d give us a choice and honour our decision. What’s with the sudden army?”

Rat Man takes in the four boys. “Because I don’t trust any of you,” he replies. “Guards, please escort these four to their room, where they can dwell on their mistakes until tomorrow morning’s tests. Use as much force as necessary.”

~||~

The four boys are shoved down the hallway and forced into an obscure room, and the satisfaction at having seven armed guards for four measly teenagers fades away as Thomas realizes the door has locked behind them. The memory of the white prison he’d been left in for almost a month comes flooding back in full force, and Thomas pounds on the door, screaming and yelling.

“Hey, Thomas,” Minho says softly, pulling Thomas away from the door. “No one’s gonna let us out. What’s your problem?”

Thomas blinks at Minho, forcing himself to take in the room. Two bunkbeds shoved against either wall with an end table between them, beige sheets and pillowcases. There’s a kitchenette to his left with a few counters and a mini fridge. It’s nothing like the white room, and Thomas gulps in much needed air. He reminds himself that this room is the complete opposite of his old cell – his friends are here, they’re alive, and there’s even a bed that he and Minho can share.

“You good?” Minho asks, the weight of his hand on the back of Thomas’ neck infinitely comforting.

“I– Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Great,” Newt says immediately, sinking down onto one of the beds. “Because we should have taken that chance earlier. Now we’re good and shucked.”

Minho releases Thomas, going to sit across from Newt on the opposite bunk. “Newt’s right, babe. We’ll be old men or dead before your magical moment comes rolling around. It’s not like they’re going to make some announcement: ‘Now would be a great time to escape, we’ll be busy for the next ten minutes.’ We’ve got to take some chances.”

Thomas comes to stand at the foot of the bunkbeds, looking between Newt and Minho. He sees the frustration, the hopelessness on each of their faces. He looks up at Chuck, who’s already claimed the bunk above where Newt is sitting, but he’s just looking straight down at the floor, defeated.

Thomas deflates, guilt weighing on him. “I’m sorry, guys,” he says. “This one’s on me. It just didn’t feel right. And once they had those weapons in our faces, it seemed kinda pointless to try anything.”

“Yeah, well,” Newt says.

Minho leans back on the bunk, propping himself up on his hands and peering up at Chuck. “You and Brenda had a nice reunion, huh, Chuckie?”

“I guess,” Chuck says, fiddling with the sheets on the mattress, pulling them out and then tucking them back in. “She said something to me.”

“Serious?” Minho says, straightening back up. “What’d she say?”

“She told me not to trust WICKED. To only trust her and somebody called Chancellor Paige.”

“Ava Paige,” Thomas says, almost to himself.

“Do you know who that is, Tommy?” Newt looks up at him with a strange expression on his face.

Thomas shakes his head. “I recognize the name, but… I can’t picture her. I don’t know who she is. With a title like Chancellor, she must be someone in a position of power.”

“What’s Brenda’s buggin’ deal, anyway?” Newt asks. “So she works for WICKED now? She was just a bloody actress down in the Scorch? Got you and Chuck alone and into the tunnels to get you to trust her?”

“Yeah, she seems just as bad as the rest of them,” Minho says.

Thomas and Chuck share a look, and he knows that they both disagree with Newt and Minho.

“Brenda also said something to me, back before Phase Three of the Trial,” Thomas says.

“Wait, what?” Minho asks. “When?”

“It was right before I woke up in that white room they kept me in for the Trial. She was able to talk to me, like Teresa. It was in a dream.”

“Oh, _hell no_ ,” Minho says.

“What’d she tell you?” Newt asks.

Thomas takes a breath. “She told me that things were about to get really bad. I thought it was Teresa at first, but then Brenda told me it was her. And then I got locked in a white padded prison for twenty-six days, so she turned out to be right. She was telling the truth.”

“You’ve known she was alive this entire time?” Chuck exclaims. “I thought she was _dead_. I thought WICKED shuckin’ _executed_ her, even after you demanded that no one else die. They refused to tell me anything during my Trial, but they sure as hell implied a whole shuckin’ lot.”

“Well, it’s not like we had a lot of time to chat before the whole Swipe thing came up!” Thomas exclaims.

“Wait,” Minho says, holding up a hand and cutting off the impending argument. “So you two believe Brenda? That she’s on our side?”

Chuck and Thomas exchange a glance, then look back at Minho. “Yeah,” they say in unison.

Minho puts his head in his hands. “Shuck me. _Why?_ ”

“Why would she bother warning me?” Thomas asks. “Why would she go and hug Chuck and tell him that WICKED couldn’t be trusted if she wasn’t on our side? Why’d she risk that?”

“Because WICKED’s behind the whole thing?” Minho retorts. “Maybe this whole thing is another shuck Trial, and they’re still studying what we’re doing! Maybe we’re _meant_ to want to break out, and whatever they’re calling Phase Three is actually just to trick us into thinking that the Trials are over.”

Everyone is silent after that, slowly thinking through what Minho just said.

“God, I _really hate_ WICKED,” Newt says finally.

But Thomas’ brain is still spinning, endless possibilities of what Brenda’s warning could mean thought up and discarded, over and over again. His mind is going a mile a minute.

“I think you’re right,” Thomas says.

“Huh?”

“Rat Man said there were three candidates, right?”

Minho and Newt look at each other in confusion, but Minho responds, “Yeah.”

“Remember when I got shot? That woman I overheard while I was there said there were seven, and that I was their top one. You guys don’t think that it’s suspicious that out of forty odd teenagers, they only have _three_ candidates, and there’s four of us in this room? Me included?”

Realization dawns on Minho’s face. “Shuck,” he says.

“Then who’s the unlucky shank that’s just getting dragged along for the ride?” Chuck asks.

Newt sighs. “Probably me. If this is just another Trial, then they’re not as close to the cure as they think. The virus will probably–” he cuts himself off, leaning over with his elbows on his knees, head hung low.

“Actually,” Chuck says. “I think it’s me. Remember my tattoo? _The Accessory._ Maybe you guys are supposed to bring me on your adventure like I’m a fancy handbag or something.”

Minho bursts out laughing. “Did you just liken yourself to a purse?”

Chuck shrugs, a smile breaking out on his face. “I guess I did.”

“So maybe Brenda is supposed to help us get out,” Thomas says. “She’s on our side.”

“What a goddamn mess,” Minho groans, stretching out across the bed, automatically shuffling to one side to make room for Thomas. Thomas isn’t stupid enough to decline the offer. Once Thomas is all snuggled up with Minho, Minho’s arm slung around his waist, Minho says, “Maybe we should just give in to those shuckfaces. Do what they want. One day we’ll all sit around, fat and happy.”

Thomas knows he doesn’t mean a word of it, but he plays along. “Maybe Rat Man knows how to officiate weddings and we could get married,” he says, reaching down to touch Minho’s ring finger. “Adopt a couple of kids. Newt can marry some WICKED guard and Chuck will get with Brenda–”

“Hey!” Chuck interrupts, his head poking out from above the railing of his bunk, cheeks bright red.

“It’ll be great,” Thomas grins. “We’ll all be happy, just in time for the world to end in a sea of lunatics.”

Minho keeps at it. “WICKED will figure out this blueprint business and we’ll all live happily ever after.”

Newt looks at them reproachfully. “That isn’t even funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Minho says, pressing a light kiss to the back of Thomas’ neck.

“So what do we do now?” Newt asks. “Break out and theoretically do exactly what WICKED wants, or allow them to dig around in our brains and give us memories that might not even be ours?”

“I vote we break out,” Chuck says immediately.

“Us too,” Minho says, speaking for both him and Thomas.

“Alright then,” Newt nods, the edge of his mouth forming a sharp smirk. “Then let’s not waste our next chance.”

“Somehow, some way,” Minho agrees. He reaches down to lace his fingers with Thomas’.

Thomas squeezes Minho’s hand. “Somehow, some way,” he repeats.

“Then let’s quit yapping and get some buggin’ sleep.”

~||~

After sleeping alone in the corner of his padded prison for almost a month, lying alongside Minho in an actual bed is practically heaven. Thomas falls asleep instantly.

The dream is bright and warm, tinged with the sweet saccharine haze of happiness. Thomas has felt happiness before, with Minho and Chuck and Newt and the other boys back in the Glade, but nothing like this. It feels… different. Secure. There’s nothing to worry about here, with his mother and father at the dinner table with him, Teresa to his side.

They’re laughing, and Thomas’ mother is looking at Thomas with glittering eyes, the skin around her mouth creasing with well-worn smile lines.

Thomas is happy here. He’s young, maybe only six years old, and he’s never known anything that wasn’t happiness.

Then the dream is changing. He’s older, but not by much. They’re all at the park, and Thomas is riding a bike down the paved pathway. Grass used to grow alongside it, but now there’s only weeds, growing scraggly through the rocky, scorched earth. There used to be a pond here, but it’s been dried up for years now – Thomas has never seen it, only been told about it.

Teresa is scream laughing to Thomas’ left, throwing a ball back and forth with their father. She’s wearing a mitt that’s too big on her, but it isn’t stopping her from catching every single pitch their father throws her. Thomas’ mother watches Thomas as he races down the path, pedaling hard. Wind rushes through his clothes the faster he goes, and he’s exhilarated by the feeling.

Eventually, they pack their stuff back into their van, chests heaving as the hot sun saps what’s left of their strength, but grinning nonetheless.

Then things turn darker.

There’s a man in a suit sitting on their couch. He looks too formal, too unhappy to be sitting in their home. He leeches the warmth and brightness out of the room like a black hole. He’s holding papers, a grave look on his face.

Thomas and Teresa are hiding around a corner, Teresa with a finger to her lips. They watch as the man tells their mother that their father has been diagnosed with the Flare, that he won’t be coming home. He hasn’t been around for a while. Their mother sobs quietly – it won’t be long until she has the Flare too.

Then the man says that Thomas and Teresa are immune. Others are immune. Less than one percent of the population, most under the age of twenty. And the world is dangerous for people like them. They’re hated for their immunity, are mockingly called Munies. People do terrible things to them. The man says that they will protect the twins, that the two of them can help WICKED work to find a cure. He says the twins are smart – some of the smartest who have been tested.

Their mom has no choice but to agree, to allow WICKED to take her children. She certainly doesn’t want them to be around to watch her descend into madness.

Before Thomas and Teresa go with the man, their mother kneels before them and hugs them tight. She tells them that she loves them so much, that she’s glad they will never have to go through what they witnessed happen to their dad. The madness had taken away every ounce of what made him who he was – what made him human.

After that, the dream fades, and Thomas falls into a deep void of sleep.

~||~

A loud knock wakes him up the next morning. Thomas has barely made it up on his elbows before the seven guards from yesterday come marching through the open door, Launchers raised. Thomas shakes Minho awake as Rat Man follows in directly after the guards.

“What’s going on?” Chuck mumbles from above.

“Rise and shine, boys,” Janson says. “We’ve decided to give you your memories back after all. Like it or not.”

~||~

Newt’s out of his bed in a flash, hands balled into fists at his sides. “Like hell you are,” he says.

He looks seconds away from launching himself straight at the nearest guard, and Thomas is out of the bed he and Minho shared in an instant. Thomas has never seen Newt so riled up before. He faces Newt directly, putting his back to the guards and pressing his shoulder forwards into Newt’s.

“Don’t do anything stupid, man,” he says lowly, out of range of Janson and the guards.

Newt looks at Thomas for a moment, then grits his teeth and goes back to glaring at Rat Man.

“You told us we didn’t have to,” Chuck says, rubbing his eyes as he comes to sit on the edge of the bunk.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice,” Janson replies. “The time for lies is over. Nothing is going to work with you four still in the dark. I’m sorry. Newt, you’ll benefit the most from the cure when this is all over.”

“I don’t care about myself anymore,” Newt replies, pressing forward. Thomas keeps him where he is.

“Look,” Rat Man says. “I am truly very sorry about what you all experienced at WICKED’s hand. You’ve seen some horrific, terrible things. But we can’t change the past, can’t take back what happened to your friends. Wouldn’t it be a waste not to complete the blueprint at this point?”

“You _can’t take it back?_ ” Newt shouts. “That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“Watch yourself,” one of the guards warns, the Launcher poised and ready to shoot.

The room falls silent. Newt’s never been like this before – so unwilling to put on a calm front, even in the face of danger.

“We’re running out of time,” Janson says. “Now let’s go, or we’ll have a repeat of yesterday. My guards are willing, I assure you.”

Minho climbs out of the bed after Thomas. “Janson’s right,” he says matter-of-factly. “If we can save you, Newt – and so many others – we’d be shuck idiots to stay in this room any longer.” He steps out of the door without looking back.

Thomas only _just_ holds back his surprise. Rat Man watches Minho go, then turns back to raise his eyebrows at Thomas.

Minho must have a plan. No way he’s had a change of heart overnight.

Thomas says the first thing that comes to mind. “Minho’s right,” he says, taking a couple steps backwards, giving both Newt and Chuck pointed looks, away from the watchful gaze of the guards. “We talked about it last night after you two went to bed. We think this is the smarter move. Besides, I did work with them before, so they can’t be all bad, right?”

“Oh, please,” Newt says, rolling his eyes, but he does step forward to follow Thomas, and Chuck turns to climb down the bunkbed ladder.

They all follow Janson down the mazelike corridors, and he narrates the entire journey like they’re on a tour. He blathers on and on about the tests and blueprints and about how the building doesn’t have any windows because of the unpredictable weather created by the sun flares.

Finally, Newt spits, “I wish you’d shut that shuck mouth of yours.”

And Rat Man does, but only because they’ve reached the room where they had ended up yesterday.

“Where are the others?” Thomas asks, thinking about Frypan.

“The subjects are recovering–”

Newt rushes forward, grabbing the white lapels of that damn suit Janson’s always wearing and slamming him into the nearest door. “Call them subjects again and I’ll break your bloody neck!”

He’s pulled off of Janson by two guards who throw him to the floor. One of the women raises the Launcher, pointing it at his chest.

“Wait!” Janson calls, straightening back up and smoothing down his suit. “Wait. Don’t disable him. Let’s just get this over with.”

Newt slowly gets to his feet, arms raised. “Don’t call us subjects. We’re not mice trying to find cheese. And tell your friends to calm down, I wasn’t going to hurt you. Much.” He looks over to Thomas and Minho, a question in his eyes.

 _WICKED is good_.

Teresa’s words pop into his brain unbidden, almost as if the old Thomas is trying to somehow warn against what they’re about to do. That no matter the cost, they should stick around and try to find a cure for the Flare.

But the Thomas that worked with WICKED all that time ago isn’t the same Thomas that stands here now. He doesn’t even like the boy he’d been before, much less understand him. How could he have thought any of what he did was okay? It’s unfathomable.

Thomas gives Newt an almost imperceptible nod. Chuck smiles nervously. Minho balls his hands into fists.

It’s now or never.

So they fight.

~||~

But they’re grossly outmatched.

The seven guards overpower the four boys in mere minutes, and they’re slammed to the ground, Launchers pointed threateningly at their backs. Janson is shouting at them for being idiotic and Thomas can hear Newt screaming curse words back at him, but then the yelling is cut off abruptly with a grunt.

The thought of one of the guards hitting Newt makes Thomas tremble with rage.

The woman that has Thomas pinned to the floor presses the Launcher more firmly into his back. “Don’t… even… think about it.”

They’re hauled to their feet unceremoniously at Rat Man’s insistence.

“Thomas!” Minho yells, fighting tooth and nail against the two guards that have both his arms in a vice.

Rat Man watches it all happen from a distance. “You are all so _dramatic,_ honestly. You’ll be back together once the procedure is complete.”

“Screw you and your procedure!” Newt yells, his nose bloody.

Janson sighs, disdain dripping from the small sound. “We won’t allow this to happen again,” he says primly.

“I was just a kid,” Thomas says, surprising himself at the words.

“What?” Rat Man says.

Thomas glares at him. “I was a _kid_. I was _brainwashed_ into doing those things – helping you.”

“I wasn’t there in the beginning,” Rat Man says in a level voice. “But you yourself approved me for this job after the original founders were purged. Never before in my life had I seen _anyone_ – kid, teenager, adult – as driven as you.” He gives Thomas a measly grin, like that’s supposed to make him feel better.

“Who cares what he was like before!” Chuck yells, struggling slightly against the hold his guard has on him, but not fighting too hard. “He’s not on your side anymore, shuckface! Get over it.”

Janson sneers at the boy, then twirls a finger in Chuck’s direction. “Looks like we’re doing you first,” he says, and Chuck’s face pales. “Get a nurse down here, Brenda’s inside. Take the others to the waiting room – I’d like to do them one at a time. I have another matter to attend to, so I’ll meet you there.”

Suddenly, Chuck starts thrashing, prompting another guard to grab Chuck’s other side, quickly subduing him. “I won’t let you do it!” he yells. “I’m not letting you put that shuck thing on my face!” But then he’s getting pushed into a nearby room, the screams abruptly cutting off as the door slams closed behind them.

Minho, Newt, and Thomas all stare at each other, unsure as to what to do now. Janson’s gone, but now it’s five guards to their three. They’re still outnumbered, and Thomas knows he’s not going anywhere without Chuck.

Thomas goes slack, allowing the guards to take him to wherever the waiting room is. Minho and Newt reluctantly follow his lead.

The waiting room is down another long bout of corridors that seem to go on forever. After a few twists and turns, they’re being led through a door that needs a keycard, which Thomas observes and files away for later use. They’re dumped unceremoniously into uncomfortable chairs, strategically placed so there’s a guard standing in front of each boy. One guard steps out of the room, the remaining agent turning their back on the door and standing guard, and Thomas assumes the other one is doing the same on the other side.

“Well this is cozy,” Minho says dryly.

“Is this what you two were talking about last night after we all went to sleep? Like you said?” Newt bites out sarcastically, and he’s practically vibrating with anger. Thomas is surprised he’s restraining himself enough to stay sitting. “Waiting in a room while Chuck gets his bloody brain drilled into?”

Thomas rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. Newt knows better than to pick a fight Minho – they’re all the same side here. Instead, he busies himself with trying to figure out a way they can all escape without that fourth guard shooting one of them with that shuck Launcher. Every plan he comes up with ends with one or all of them unconscious on the floor, writhing in pain. Thomas keeps his butt in the chair.

“Yeah, you dumb shank,” Minho replies in a mocking voice. “It’s all gone according to plan.”

“Can you both shut up?” Thomas exclaims. “Stop fighting.” He’s about to follow that up with _I’m trying to think,_ but then the door hisses and opens, and Rat Man steps through, giving them his trademark pathetic grin.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Thomas,” Janson says, carrying a tablet in his hands. He turns it so the screen is facing them, and Thomas can see the backs of three boys sitting in a room, three guards standing in front of them. The room looks… familiar.

The ball drops. That’s– That’s _them_. Newt and Minho seem to have realized this fact as well, because they all spin around to look at the wall behind them.

It’s a shuckin’ Beetle Blade.

“Can’t say I missed those,” Minho says.

The metal beetle just blinks at them, red eyes glinting happily.

Janson pulls a chair away from where it’s resting against the wall of the room, placing it so he’s sitting facing them, like a principal talking to naughty children who had been caught fighting on the schoolyard.

Thomas adds Janson as a factor to the escape plan that’s slowly forming in his brain. If he’s here, he might keep the guards from firing their Launchers, so they don’t delay the procedure times, like he did with Newt earlier. But the Beetle Blade definitely messes things up – no doubt somebody is watching that feed in a different room, ready to send back-up if needed.

“I think you boys are smart enough to know not to try anything, especially with that Beetle Blade on the wall,” Rat Man says, powering off the tablet. “Chuck’s procedure will be over momentarily, so please don’t do anything stupid in the meantime.”

“What are you playing at here, Rat Man?” Minho says, using the nickname the Gladers had given him on purpose, now that he’s no longer trying to pacify him. The lines have been drawn in the sand – there’s no pretending they’re on the same side anymore. “You said you’d give us a _choice_. What was the point in that if that was never your intention?”

Rat Man leans back in his chair. “I’ve already gone over this,” he says. “I had hoped that you all would come to your senses eventually. You all need to remember that _the fate of the human race_ is depending on your participation for the cure to the Flare.”

“Blah blah blah,” Minho yawns. “Tell us the shuckin’ truth.”

“This _is_ the truth,” Rat Man insists. “Everything that I have told you is–”

Janson cuts off as there’s a thump from outside, turning as he rises from his chair. Slowly, the door slides open to reveal nothing but the wall from the opposite hallway, and the guard who had been standing on the other side of the door slumps into the room, his entire body shaking and trembling. The crackling of energy slowly fizzles away, and he lays on the ground, totally unconscious.

It’s silent. No one moves.

The door remains open.

A metal ball flies through the air, glinting blue, hitting the agent who’s still standing guard at the door on the inside of the room in the middle of her chest. She screams, dropping to her knees, the electricity spreading throughout her body and locking out her limbs. She slumps to the ground, twitching.

“What on earth is–” Rat Man yells.

Chuck and Brenda emerge from either side of the open door, each holding a Launcher in steady hands. Before Thomas can even comprehend what’s happening, Brenda fires at the guard in front of Thomas, and he drops like a stone with a pained grunt. Chuck is pointing his Launcher directly at Janson, and Newt has already knocked the guard that’s been watching him this entire time to the ground with a battle cry, fists flying.

Thomas and Minho rush to action before the remaining guard can come to his senses and fire his Launcher. They cut him down in a flurry of movement, hard punches and sharp kicks, similar to how they finished off that lightbulb monster back in the Scorch. Thomas wrenches the Launcher away from the agent, but before Thomas can pull the trigger, Minho has already knocked him out cold. 

Janson and Chuck are still talking – if it can even be called that, Thomas sees Janson’s spittle flying from way across the room. As Minho pulls out the belt from his jeans to use as a binding on the guard, Thomas swings the guard’s Launcher over his own shoulder and holds the man’s arms in place.

Thomas calls over to Chuck, “Get Rat Man’s keycard.”

Chuck holds out a hand, and with jerky movements, Janson hands over the card. “This is _ridiculous_. There are more guards on their way down here as we speak.”

Newt follows Minho’s lead, wrapping his own belt around the guard’s arms and feet so she’s bowed backward. Thomas almost winces in sympathy. She’ll be feeling that when she comes to.

“I feel so much better,” Newt breathes as he stands up. “I can only think of how much better I’ll feel once I get to knock out even _more_ guards.”

“This is complete _lunacy_ ,” Janson continues. “You have zero chance at getting out of this complex.”

Minho and Thomas, finally done tying up their guard, rise to their feet.

“After what we’ve been through, this is nothing,” Thomas says, smiling as he realizes the statement is true. “Thanks for all the training, Rat Man. But for now – what did you say earlier? Prepare for the worst five minutes of your life.”

In one sharp movement, Thomas swings the Launcher around his shoulder by the strap, aiming directly for Janson. He pulls the trigger. There’s a high-pitched ringing sound and then a grenade explodes from the Launcher, hitting Janson exactly where Thomas had aimed. Rat Man screams as the electricity crawls across his body, and he falls to the ground, smoke rising from his clothes, his hair.

The smell in the room has become overwhelming – the stench of scorched Kevlar and smoking skin. Burning hair. Sickeningly, it reminds Thomas of Minho after he had been struck by lightning.

“That can’t feel good,” Chuck says without remorse.

“Supposedly, it won’t kill him,” Brenda tells them.

“What a shame,” Minho says. “The world would have been better off.”

Minho steps over to the fallen guards who had been shot with the electricity grenades. He disarms them, putting both Launchers around his shoulders, handing the extra back to Thomas. Newt holds his own Launcher in his hands, having already taken it from the guard he’d knocked unconscious.

All armed and as ready as they’ll ever be, Thomas announces. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“I’ll bloody drink to that,” Newt says.

“I was thinkin’ the same exact thing,” Minho adds.

“Let’s go,” Chuck says.

They all turn to Brenda, and Thomas itches to know what happened, how Chuck and Brenda had been able to get free of the guards and come find them. But the bottom line is that Brenda put herself on the line to save Chuck, to rescue all of them from this room instead of taking off, and that’s enough for Thomas to trust her.

“I hate WICKED just as much as you do,” she says, voice as hard as steel. “I’m in.”

Thomas smiles. Brenda’s _back._ Even if it is a gamble to trust her, he pushes any uncertainty to the back of his mind. If she’s coming along, then there’s no room to doubt her.

“What’s the plan?” Newt asks. “These guys aren’t going to stay out for long and that shuck Beetle Blade is still watching every move we make.”

Chuck and Brenda pick out the Beetle Blade where it’s crawled nearer to them, the wall underneath it lights up the machine in a pale red glow.

“I guess we’ll make it up as we go,” Thomas says.

Brenda turns to Chuck, who nods back at her. She faces the other boys, then says, “Jorge’s a pilot. If we can somehow make it to his hangar, his Berg…”

“That sounds a good a plan as any,” Minho decides.

Before anyone else can respond, there are footsteps in the hallway, shouts echoing off the walls.

“They’re coming,” Thomas says. The reality of the situation comes crashing down on him in that moment. It’s not like WICKED is going to let them waltz out of here, even if this is a Trial and they _are_ meant to escape.

Minho runs to the door, taking a stance next to it. “They’ll all have to come straight through here.”

Thomas follows after him, standing on the opposite side of the open door. “Newt, come on my side. Chuck and Brenda – get beside Minho. Me and Minho will pick off the first couple who come through. You guys catch the rest from the sides, and then get out into the hallway. We’ll be right behind you.”

They nod and take their positions.

~||~

The first guard arrives not long after, and Thomas picks him off with a crackling energy grenade; the force sends the man reeling backwards, electricity exploding across his body in a web of lightning.

A second guard comes rushing through, and Minho acts before Thomas can. He uses the straps across her uniform as a hand hold and swings the woman across his body, slamming her into the wall. She manages to fire her Launcher, but the metal ball clatters to the floor, crackling harmlessly against the tile.

Brenda fires at the next guard, a man in an identical tactical outfit but with a different weapon – smaller, sleeker – and she hits him in the legs. Tiny, jagged bolts of blue electricity shoot up his body and he screams, falling back into the hallway. His weapon falls to the floor.

Minho has managed to subdue the woman, forcing her to kneel. He holds a Launcher inches from her head.

A fourth guard runs through the door, and Thomas can’t help but wonder why they’re still racing through, despite knowing exactly what they’re walking into. Something about it doesn’t make sense.

Newt doesn’t seem to hold any reservations – he easily knocks the weapon out of the agent’s hands, punching him square in the face. The guard drops to his knees, looking up at Newt with a hand raised to his bloody mouth, but Chuck is already there, firing his Launcher directly at the man’s chest. At such close range, the metal grenade makes a terrible popping noise as it connects with the agent’s body. He makes a weird squealing sound as he falls to the floor, limbs flailing as the electricity consumes him.

As the crackling fades away, Thomas can tell that the hallway has gone silent. It doesn’t sound like any more guards are immediately on their way. He turns back to where Minho is still aiming the Launcher directly at the woman’s face.

“Where are the others?” Thomas asks, stepping closer. “How many more of you are there?”

The woman remains silent, glaring up at the five teenagers who have managed to subdue her entire team.

Minho moves the Launcher even closer, until it presses against her cheek. “Answer him.”

“There’s at least fifty of us on duty,” she says in a rush.

“Then where are they?” Minho asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“All I know is that a group of us were called to a different section.”

Thomas narrows his eyes. “And you don’t know why? I have a hard time believing that.”

The woman shakes her head. “I swear it.”

Thomas and Minho exchange a glance. “Seems a little convenient, don’t ya think?” Minho asks.

Thomas sighs. “Sure does.” It’s looking more and more like this really is just another Trial.

“Who cares if it’s convenient or not?” Newt exclaims, raising his Launcher. “Let’s _go._ ”

Minho grips the guard by the back of her neck, forcing her back to her feet. “Guess we’ll just take this nice lady here as a hostage, then.”

“Brenda should lead,” Chuck says. “She knows the compound best.” He holds out Rat Man’s keycard and presses it into Thomas’ hand.

Brenda hurries to the front of the pack, next to Thomas. She peeks around the door, then confirms that it’s clear. “I don’t hear anybody, but we don’t have a lot of time. Come on.”

She ducks through the open door and turns right, Thomas right behind her. Minho and the guard follow after them, Chuck and Newt bringing up the rear. A quick glance behind him shows that Newt looks a bit too happy to be pointing that Launcher at the guard as they run, the agent herself looking downright murderous.

They just need to make it to the hangar.

When they reach the end of the hallway, Brenda takes another right without stopping. The corridor is the same as all the others, a beige alleyway that seems to stretch on and on forever. They eventually end up at double doors, and Thomas sees the metal rectangle on the side of the wall that tells him they’ll need a keycard to open them.

Thomas pulls the keycard from Rat Man out of his pocket.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” the woman yells, but she sounds desperate. “I bet there are twenty guns on the other side of that door ready to burn you alive.”

The five of them have to find Jorge and the Berg, but Thomas also knows they need to find the rest of the Gladers and the girls from Group B. He isn’t going to leave them behind just because they chose to get their memories back.

He turns back to his friends. “We have to believe that she’s right. Are we up for this? We still need to find everyone else.”

Minho comes up with the plan to use the woman as a pawn, letting her open the door first before the rest of them.

They’re just in position when the lights cut out, the entire room going black. An alarm starts blaring.

~||~

There’s a grunt, and then, “Hey!”

Thomas hears a Launcher fire, and the grenade hits the floor, the hallway lighting up glowy blue as the electricity fizzles across the tiles. It’s just enough to see the woman guard running back the way they came, disappearing into the gloom.

“My fault,” Minho mutters, barely audible.

Thomas curses the sudden darkness, but turns back to the door. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “Everyone back in position! I’ll use Rat Man’s keycard and crack the door. Then everyone start shooting.”

Thomas counts them down, then swipes the keycard with a beep, and the metal doors crack open.

“Now! Go!”

Minho, Newt, Brenda, and Chuck all start to fire their Launchers into the darkness. Thomas slowly gets into position, joining the fray. It takes a couple of seconds, but soon the space before them is lit up in a blinding display of lights and explosions.

There’s no sign of anyone else. No answering fire.

“Stop!” Thomas yells. “Don’t waste any more ammunition!”

They stand and wait for the energy to die down so it’s safe to walk in there.

Thomas turns to Brenda. “Do you know what’s going on? Why the alarm?”

Brenda shakes her head. “No idea – something definitely feels wrong.”

“This really is just another bloody test,” Newt grunts.

Thomas can’t help but agree. He steps through the door, Launcher raised, wanting to get a feel for the room before the lights fully disappear. The more he moves through the room, the more he feels like he knows this place. He thinks he grew up here. They all must have.

Suddenly, the alarm stops blaring.

Thomas turns back to his friends. “What now?”

“Probably got sick of the sound,” Minho replies. “God knows I have.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Chuck adds. “We need to keep going, find the hangar. Brenda, is it close?”

Brenda looks apologetic, her features lit up by the red haze given off by the emergency lights in the next room over. “Not really. It’s across the compound.”

“We need weapons,” Newt says. “Where can we find those?”

“Weapons depot is on the way,” Brenda says, brightening a bit.

Thomas thinks for a second. He knows they need to get to the rest of their friends, but he agrees that ensuring they have a way out of here needs to take first priority.

“Okay,” Thomas says. “We need to get to the weapons depot and the hangar, then find Jorge and get him prepping a Berg. Minho and I can go back with Brenda and search the rest of the compound for the others, and Chuck and Newt – you two can stay with Jorge as back-up. Sound good?”

“The depot’s probably guarded,” Brenda warns.

Chuck sets his jaw. “We’ve been through worse.”

“We’ll fire ‘til they drop or we drop,” Minho says.

Newt raises his Launcher. “Let’s go.”

~||~

Brenda leads them down a series of long hallways and corridors, dull red emergency beacons lighting the way. They meet no resistance, but Beetle Blades scurry on the walls next to them, clicking faintly.

Minho raises his Launcher like he’s going to fire at one of them, but Thomas looks back just in time.

“Minho, don’t you dare,” Thomas says. “If you miss, you’re gonna scorch Newt.”

Newt whips his head around to see Minho’s Launcher aiming very near his own head. “Hey!” Newt yells.

“Fine, fine,” Minho rolls his eyes, lowering the weapon. “It’s just… they know where we are. Why is no one coming?”

“Because we’re probably meant to escape, just like Thomas predicted,” Chuck answers.

“You’d think they would put at least a _little_ effort into the charade, though,” Minho reasons. “That lady said the other agents were called to another section. Why?”

“Minho,” Thomas warns. “Let’s just get to the weapons depot.”

They jog for another fifteen minutes or so until they reach their destination. Thomas and Brenda push open the door, and judging by the look of the shelves, the room is fully stocked.

“That does it,” Newt says. “No more doubt.”

“Someone’s definitely setting us up,” Thomas says.

“Has to be,” Minho says. But then his eyes narrow. He cuts a look over to Brenda. “What do you know about this?”

Brenda looks at him, eyes wide. “Nothing! I swear!”

“Then why help Chuck out of the surgery room?”

Brenda glances over to Chuck. “Because–” she cuts off.

“Because you’re still working behind our backs for WICKED? Like in the Scorch?” Minho raises his Launcher so it’s pointing directly at Brenda’s chest.

“Minho!” Chuck says, stepping forward. “She’s on our side! She could have sedated me, but she _didn’t_.”

She takes a step back, raising her hands. “Whoa. I _swear_ I don’t know anything. If this is a Trial, and honestly, it’s looking like it is, I _promise_ that I’m not in on it this time.” She looks over at Chuck again. “I – I asked to help with Chuck’s procedure so that I could _help him_. And Thomas, besides me being a Crank, I never lied to you, about _anything_. I hacked into the telepathy device to _warn_ you. I hate these people just as much as you all do. I promise.”

Thomas remembers the conversation they had in the truck cab while Chuck slept – Brenda had told him that WICKED killed her dad. And right now, there’s something in her eyes that makes Thomas believe her. He walks over to Minho’s side, shoving the Launcher down so it’s pointed to the floor. “Now is _not_ the time to turn on the one person who’s going to help us get out of here.”

Minho looks over at Thomas, eyes glinting, but Thomas doesn’t back down. “Fine,” Minho says. He turns back to the weapons. “Let’s load up.”

Newt has already wandered further into the room. “Hey, look at this,” he calls back to them.

As Thomas enters behind him, Newt’s pointing at a section of empty wall space and shelves. “Look at the dust patterns. Looks like a bunch of weapons were taken recently, like in the last hour or so.”

“What’s that mean?” Chuck asks.

Newt turns on him. “Can’t you figure something out for yourself just once, you bloody shank!”

Chuck winces. He looks more shocked at the outburst than angry.

Thomas holds up a hand, coming to Chuck’s defense instantly. “Whoa, Newt. Slim it, dude. What’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell ya what’s bloody wrong. You go all tough-guy without a real plan, leading us around this shuck complex like chickens lookin’ for feed. And now Chuck can’t take a bloody step without askin’ which foot he should use.”

“Chuck literally broke out of that room with Brenda’s help and came to find us, Newt,” Minho says with a scoff. “I think he can make his own buggin’ decisions. _You’re_ the one acting like a genius just because you found out that _weapons_ were taken from the _weapon room._ Next time we’ll all pat you on the back for stating the freakin’ obvious.”

Newt looks stricken, almost teary.

“I’m sorry,” Newt murmurs, then turns and walks out of the room.

“What was _that?_ ” Minho whispers.

Thomas looks over at Minho, and he knows they’re thinking the same thing: that Newt’s sanity is slowly being eaten away. Maybe the virus is somehow progressing faster in Newt than Rat Man had predicted.

“You guys _were_ kinda missing his point,” Brenda says.

“Which was?” Minho asks.

“Newt was right,” Brenda says. “Looks like a whole bunch of guns and Launchers were taken. Recently too, by the looks of it.”

“Yeah?” Chuck prods.

“Guards only come here when they need a replacement or want to use something other than a Launcher,” she explains, as if the answer is obvious. “Why would they _all_ need to do that at the same time? _Today?_ And Launchers are so heavy, you can’t fire them if you’re holding another weapon too. Where are the weapons they would have left behind?”

~||~

Minho offers a couple of explanations, but Brenda shoots them down immediately.

“It’s standard for the guards to carry Launchers at all times – no way they would all run out and have to reload at the same time. Whatever you guys think about WICKED, it’s not their goal to kill as many people as possible. Even when Cranks break in.”

“Wait,” Chuck says. “Cranks have _broken in_ here before?”

Brenda nods. “The more past the Gone they are, the more desperate they get.”

“Maybe _that’s_ what happened, then,” Minho suggests. “Maybe this isn’t a Trial after all. The alarms – maybe Cranks broke in and took whatever weapons were here, stunned people, then started eating their shuck bodies! Maybe we’ve only seen a few guards because the Cranks have killed the rest!”

Brenda sighs. “I hate to say it, but I think you might be right.” She pauses for a moment. “Seriously. That would explain it.”

An icy chill passes through Thomas. He doesn’t want to face a Crank ever again. He can still remember the Crank that had chased him, Chuck, and Brenda through the Underground. He can still feel the phantom resistance of the Crank’s chest as he plunged the knife into his heart. “If that’s true, our problems are a whole lot worse than we thought.”

“Glad to see the guy _not_ immune to the Flare isn’t the only one with a brain that still works.”

Thomas turns to see Newt at the door.

“Next time, just explain yourself instead of getting all snippy,” Minho says, voice empty of compassion. “I didn’t think you’d lose it so fast, but I’m glad you’re back. We might need a Crank to sniff out these other Cranks if they really broke in.”

Thomas glares at Minho at the cutting remark. He did _not_ just say that. “ _Minho._ Really?”

“You’ve never known when to shut your hole, have ya, Minho? Always inserting yourself into bloody arguments, just to have the last word.”

“Shut your shuck face,” Minho says. The words are so calm that Thomas is almost worried that Minho is losing it too.

The tension in the room is palpable. Thomas glances between Minho and Newt, mouth gaping open, completely astonished at their behaviour.

Newt slowly walks up to Minho, stopping directly in front of him. Then, quick as a lightning strike, he punches Minho in the face. Minho staggers back, slamming into the empty weapons rack. Then he rushes forward and tackles Newt to the ground.

It all happens so fast, Thomas has no time to react. He can’t believe that Newt and Minho are being so idiotic that they’re fighting _each other_ instead of working together to escape WICKED. It’s not like they’re in a great situation right now. They still need to make it the damn hangar.

“Stop!” Thomas yells. He runs over to the fighting boys, pulling at Minho’s shirt. Chuck steps forward, helping separate the two of them, arms and legs flailing everywhere. Thomas eventually gets a solid enough grip to yank Minho to his feet, his fists still swinging wildly. Minho’s elbow catches him in the chin, sending his head snapping back hard enough that his neck cracks, and rage bursts through him.

When Minho realizes he’s hurt Thomas, he forgets Newt entirely. He turns around, eyes wide and mouth parted.

“How stupid can you get?” Thomas yells, before Minho can even start to apologize. His hand cups the side of his face in an effort to stop the throbbing. “We’re trying to escape from WICKED and you two shanks want to _brawl?_ ”

“Thomas, I’m–”

Thomas cuts Minho off. “Save your shuck apologies for when I’ll actually listen to them. You both need to _smarten up_.” He glares at Minho and Newt both.

Newt raises a hand to a red spot on his cheek where Minho’s fist must have connected. “It’s my fault,” he says. “Everything’s tickin’ me off. You guys figure out what to do. I’ll be outside.” He turns and stalks out of the room again.

Thomas takes a few deep, long breaths, pointedly not looking at where Minho is still peering at him with apologetic eyes. If they’re all going to get out of here, they need to _work together_ , dammit.

“Chuck – get some guns for all of us. Minho – Launchers. Brenda, can you fill up a box with as much ammo as possible? I’ll go get Newt.”

Thomas doesn’t bother waiting for a reply, just turns and follows Newt out into the hallway. He’s sitting on the floor about twenty feet away with his back against the wall.

“Sorry about punching your boyfriend in the mouth,” Newt says as Thomas sits down next to him.

Thomas sighs. Seeing Newt so confused and distant drains some of the anger from him. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” he says. “Listen, something weird is going on. Either WICKED is testing us and this is another Trial, or Cranks have broken in and are killing people left and right. We need to work together and get out of here.”

“I know.”

“Then get up and _help us._ ”

“I know.”

Thomas has never seen Newt like this before. So defeated, so lifeless. Just looking at him like this sends a wave of despair through Thomas. “Look, I know we’re all going a little craz–” he stops, cursing his choice of words. What a stupid thing to say.

“Slim it, Tommy. I know something’s started in my head. I don’t feel right. But you don’t need to worry – give me a second and I’ll be fine. We’ll get you guys out of here and then I can deal.”

Thomas pauses, replaying the last sentence over again. “Wait. What do you mean _you guys_ out?”

“ _Us_ out,” Newt corrects. “Whatever. But I need to grab something before we go.” He stands up before Thomas can stop him, starting back down the hallway.

“Newt!” Thomas calls. “We need your help!”

Newt keeps going. He doesn’t even turn around. “Just go get the stuff! This’ll only take a couple of minutes.” And then he disappears around the corner.

~||~

The four of them gather as much as they can carry. Each of them have two launchers strapped to their back, each with various weapons and ammo clips tucked away anywhere they can store them. Brenda holds the ammo box, Launcher resting on top.

“That looks heavy,” Chuck mentions. “Do you want me to–”

Brenda hoists the box up higher, flicking her hair out of her face. “I can manage until Newt gets back to help.” But then she looks over at Chuck through her eyelashes, mouth curled into a smile. “Thanks, though.”

Minho grunts irritably. “Who knows what Newt’s up to. He’s never been like this before. Flare’s eating his brain already.”

Thomas cuts a glare over to Minho. “Cut the attitude,” he tells him, but Minho just rolls his eyes. “Minho, I’m serious. Imagine what he’s going through. We don’t need you riling him up and setting him off again.”

“Do you guys remember that club we were forced into, back in the Scorch?” Brenda asks, looking between Thomas and Chuck. “Where they made us drink that drug?”

Thomas vaguely remembers a Crank calling it the Bliss. “Yeah, why?”

“Increased levels of brain activity actually quicken the pace of destruction – it’s called cognitive destruction. That’s why that drug – the Bliss – is so popular. It slows brain function in people who have the Flare. Lengthens the time before you go crazy. But it’s _really_ expensive.”

The idea of the outside world, of people actually living their lives that aren’t part of an experiment or holed up in abandoned buildings seems so foreign to Thomas.

“Can people even still function on that stuff?” Chuck asks. “Go about their daily lives? I passed out like, immediately after.”

“That’s because you’re a lightweight, Chuckie.” Minho claps a hand on Chuck’s shoulder.

Brenda ignores Minho’s comment. “They do what they need to do, they’re just more… relaxed.” She gives an example of how a firefighter might rescue thirty kids from a burning inferno and not be too torn up about dropping a few of them into the flames.

“Jesus,” Minho breathes.

“That’s just… sick,” Chuck says.

“You guys are missing the point,” Brenda says. “Think of the hell that Newt’s been through – all the decisions he’s had to make. No wonder the Flare is moving so fast in him. He’s too stimulated, way more than the average person.”

Thomas studies the floor, sadness for his friend gripping his heart. “We can’t do anything about it until we get somewhere safer.”

“Do about what?”

Thomas spins around to see Newt standing in the doorway. “Nothing, never mind. We have to go.”

~||~

On their way out of the weapons depot, Newt grabs Thomas’ arm and forces him to the back of the pack, whispering to him in low tones. He presses a sealed envelope into Thomas’ hands. “Put this in your pocket.”

Thomas has no choice but to take it, noting that it’s not addressed to anyone. “What? What is it?”

“Just put it in your bloody pocket, Tommy.”

Thomas does as he’s told, confused but curious.

“Now look me in the eye.” Newt snaps his fingers in front of Thomas’ face.

Thomas almost can’t believe the fear and nervousness he sees in Newt’s eyes. “What’s in the envelope, Newt?”

“You don’t need to know right now. You _can’t_ know. But you have to make me a promise, and I’m not messing around here.”

Curiosity gets the better of Thomas, and he starts to pull the envelope back out of his pocket. Newt stops him, grabbing his arm, fingers gripping tight.

“What? Newt, what are you talking about?”

“You swear to me that you won’t read what’s inside until the time is right.”

“When the time is right?” Thomas asks. “But how will I–”

“You’ll bloody know!” Newt answers before he can finish. “Now swear to me! Swear it!”

“Fine!” Thomas relents, beyond worried for his friend. “But, Newt, _why_ –”

“Good,” Newt interrupts. “Break your promise, and I’ll _never_ forgive you.”

~||~

They search the compound for an hour, guns and Launchers held at the ready for any resistance they may face. But they can’t find their friends. There’s nothing.

The power is still out, a menacing red glow from the emergency beacons lighting up the hallways as they check each room to see if anyone is inside.

No guards.

No teenagers.

No Cranks.

It’s starting to freak Thomas out.

What is WICKED playing at?

“There’s nothing here,” Minho says. “We can’t afford to lose any more time looking for shanks that aren’t here to be found.”

Thomas hates to agree. He doesn’t want to leave their friends here, if they’re even actually here. But their only choice is to move on.

Thomas nods. “Let’s zigzag our way to the hangar, keep looking for them as we go.”

~||~

Then they find the guards.

They’re all laid out on the floor neatly head to toe, tied up tight. Their mouths are gagged, eyes open and panicked. Some of them are struggling in their restraints, and others lay still. One guard near the corner won’t stop moaning.

“So this is where they all are,” Minho breathes.

“At least they aren’t hanging from the bloody ceiling this time,” Newt grunts.

Brenda steps forward, saying something about getting information, but Chuck stops her, concern creasing his face. “No, wait! It might be a trap,” he says. “We should keep moving.”

“Agreed,” Minho says, raising his Launcher and turning away. “This isn’t up for debate. These shuck guards aren’t our worry anyway.”

Brenda hesitates, but one look to Chuck, and then she’s nodding. She steps forward down another hallway. “Fine. Hangar’s this way.”

~||~

When they get to the door that leads to the hangar, they find that it’s already cracked open.

All five of them immediately crouch into position, weapons held at the ready, entering the large room slowly and deliberately, unwilling to be caught off guard. Thomas notes that this place looks big enough to hold three Bergs, but one of them is missing. There’s no guards lying in wait just on the other side of the door, but they disperse, checking behind crates and shelves, yelling “Clear!” as they go.

Eventually, Minho calls out, “Hey! Someone’s just lyin’ over here!”

Thomas is the first one to Minho’s side, and the man is face down, but he’s slowly getting to his knees, groaning. He rubs his head, and Thomas can’t see blood, but he figures he’s been hit pretty hard.

“Steady, dude,” Minho says, Launcher aimed. “Yeah, that’s it. Nice and slow.”

Brenda doesn’t even hesitate once she sees who Thomas and Minho are standing over. “Jorge!” she cries, rushing to his side and helping him to his feet. “What happened? Who hit you? Where’d the other Berg go? Where is everyone?”

Thomas feels a rush of relief – they’ve found their pilot, and he seems okay, if a little banged up.

“Calm down, _sobrina_ ,” Jorge groans. “My head feels like it’s been stomped on by dancin’ Cranks. Let me get my wits back together.”

Thomas watches as Jorge gets his bearings. He remembers back in the Scorch, he had been terrified of this guy. The image of Minho and Jorge fighting in that abandoned building will never leave his mind. He realizes now that the whole thing was an act – the threats against Minho and the rest of the Gladers had probably been designed by WICKED from the very start to stimulate some sort of brain patterns. But Thomas would like to think that they’re all on the same side now.

Chuck and Newt have joined their circle by the time Jorge feels up to talking.

“I don’t know how they did it,” Jorge starts. “But they took over the compound, got rid of the guards, stole a Berg, and flew out of here with a different pilot. I tried to get them to wait until I knew more about what was going on, and now my head’s paying for it.”

“Who?” Brenda asks. “Who left?”

Jorge looks directly at Thomas before he answers. “Your sister. Teresa. And all the rest of the subjects. Well, all of them except you _muchachos_.”

~||~

Thomas staggers back a couple steps, stumbling on a crate. The only reason he doesn’t crash to the floor is the hold that Minho gets on his arm, keeping him on his feet.

Thomas had a running theory that maybe Cranks really had invaded the compound and attacked, or that WICKED was hiding the other teenagers somewhere else as the five of them completed whatever Trial had been set up for them. Maybe another group had infiltrated WICKED, rescued them, even.

But Teresa had _escaped?_ Had led the Gladers and Group B through the compound, tied up those guards, and flew a Berg out of here? Without him and the others?

Was this part of the Trial? One group with teenagers that had their memories, the other without? If they had their memories, why would they escape? Why would WICKED _let_ them?

It doesn’t make _sense._

“You need to tell us everything,” Newt says.

Jorge shakes his head slowly. “That’s all I know. What I told you happened is what happened. Now just _hold on,_ my head–”

“Yeah, we get it,” Minho says impatiently. “You have a headache. Just tell us what you know and then I’ll find you some shuck aspirin.”

Jorge chuckles darkly. “Brave words, boy. If I remember correctly, you had to beg for your life and your boyfriend over here had to step in to save your scrawny butt back in the Scorch.”

Minho glares at Jorge, jaw clenched. “Yeah, I bet it’s easy to be tough when you have lunatics with knives protecting you.” He steps forward. “Things are a little different now.”

Brenda holds her hands up between the two of them. “Can you just stop! We’re all on the same side.”

“Are we?” Minho mutters.

“ _Yes,_ ” Chuck stresses, stepping forward so he’s standing next to Brenda. “We are.”

“Look,” Newt says, turning to Jorge. “You need to tell us what happened so we know what to do next.”

Thomas is still in shock. He can’t believe that Teresa and the rest of the teenagers would just _leave_ without them.

Jorge scrubs his hands over his face. “I work all day in this hangar, okay? I started hearing all sorts of shouts and ruckus over the com, and then the silent alarm light started blinking. I went outside to investigate, and nearly got my head blown off.”

“At least it wouldn’t hurt anymore,” Minho murmurs.

Thomas glares over at Minho, but Jorge either doesn’t hear the comment or ignores it.

“Then the lights went out,” Jorge continues. “I went to find my gun, but the next thing I knew Teresa and a bunch of your hooligan friends came running in here, dragging along old Tony to fly a Berg for them. I dropped my lousy weapon when eight Launchers were pointed directly at me, and I asked them to explain things to me, to just _wait_ , but then a girl with blonde hair whacked me with the butt of her gun. I passed out, then woke up to see your ugly faces peering down at me with a Berg gone. That’s all I know.”

Thomas listens to the story distantly, with one glaring through spinning around and around in his mind.

“They left us,” he almost whispers.

“Huh?” Chuck asks.

“Speak up, Tommy,” Newt adds.

Thomas looks up at his friends. “They left us behind. At least we went back and looked for them. They left us here for WICKED to do whatever they want with us.”

No one responds, but their eyes reveal they’d been thinking the same thing.

Brenda suggests that maybe they _did_ search for them, but couldn’t find them, or the fight got so bad that they had to leave.

“No way,” Minho scoffs. “They had all the guards tied up back there! They had plenty of time to find us.”

“They left us,” Chuck says, the statement final.

“On purpose,” Newt adds in a low voice.

But still, none of this makes sense _._ “Why would Teresa escape?” Thomas wonders. “She loves WICKED. And all of us were breaking out at the _exact same time?_ Doesn’t that seem a little fishy?”

“I don’t know,” Brenda says. “Why would it be so weird for them to want to escape?”

“They supposedly just got their memories back,” Chuck tells her. “Rat Man said it would help WICKED in the last stages of the study.”

“So this _is_ all part of the experiment, then. We were meant to break out one way or another,” Minho says.

Thomas cannot express how much it bothers him that Teresa and the others – Frypan, even! – had left without them. Something isn’t right.

“There’s nothing to bloody figure out,” Newt says. “We need to get out of here.” He points to the Berg.

Thomas turns to Jorge. “You’re really a pilot?”

He grins. “Damn straight, _muchacho_. One of the best.”

“Why’d they send you to the Scorch, then?” Minho asks. “If you’re so valuable?”

Jorge glances over to Brenda. “Where Brenda goes, I go. And heading to the Scorch seemed better than staying here. I looked at it like a vacation. Turned out a little rougher than I–”

An alarm starts blaring, the same whining scream as before. Thomas’ heart starts beating a little faster – the noise seems much louder in the hangar than it did in the halls, echoing off the high walls and ceiling.

Brenda and Chuck both look in surprise at the door they’d come through, and Thomas turns to see what caught their attention.

At least a dozen of the guards are pouring through the opening, weapons raised. They start firing, guns and Launchers alike.

~||~

The firefight solidifies their group – the six of them start firing back at WICKED’s guards almost immediately, ducking behind the cargo crates around them. 

The onslaught pauses momentarily, gunshots echoing and metal grenades crackling and shooting light into the dark room in sporadic bursts. Thomas hears shuffling footsteps and commands shouted from the other side of the crates.

Thomas presses into Minho’s side, breathing heavily. “How do we do this?” he asks, gripping Minho’s wrist. “You’re in charge this time.”

Minho gives him a long look, then nods. “Okay,” he says to himself. He barks out orders on where to shoot and when, telling Jorge to scout a pathway to his Berg. “Shoot anything that moves or wears black. Get ready.”

Thomas shuffles into position, kneeling behind the crates, but before he can get too far, Minho reaches out for him.

His eyes are big and brown and beautiful. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

Thomas nods. His jaw doesn’t even hurt anymore. “I know.”

Minho grips his upper arm, yanking him forward into a bruising kiss, palm rough on the side of his face. It’s short – there’s no time for much else. Minho pulls away roughly, tipping their foreheads together. “I love you.” And then he releases Thomas, pushing him back to his previous position, turning to set himself up.

Thomas takes a deep breath and tries to convince himself that Minho’s words aren’t a good-bye. They’re going to get out of here, one way or another. He’ll be able to say _I love you too_ as soon as they’re all on that Berg.

He sees Brenda next to Chuck, hunched over and waiting for Minho’s signal. She’s holding two pistols instead of a Launcher.

“Planning on killing somebody?” Chuck asks.

“Nah. I’ll aim for their legs. But ya never know, maybe I’ll hit high by accident.”

Thomas can just see the edge of the grin she flashes at Chuck, and Chuck readjusts his own Launcher, smirking back. Thomas really is starting to like her.

“Okay!” Minho shouts. “Now!”

~||~

There’s gunfire, screams, flashes of electricity that arc through the air in brilliant displays of blue light.

It’s absolute chaos.

Minho’s shouting at Jorge, asking about his Berg, and Jorge’s ducking past the returning fire and pointing towards the far left corner of the hangar.

“Then go, go, go!” Minho yells.

Thomas feels a rush of adrenaline – they all sprint away from their protection of the cargo boxes, Newt and Minho firing Launcher grenades to cover their mad dash. Thomas shoots his own weapon as well as he can while running, Chuck and Brenda doing the same. He swears he can feel bullets brushing past him, barely missing his arm, his leg, his calf.

“Run!” Jorge shouts, and he doesn’t have to tell them twice.

Thomas pushes himself farther, legs burning. Daggers of lightning shoot across the room in all directions, bullets pinging off metal surfaces, smoke swirling around from patches of fire that have erupted across the hangar.

They’ve almost made it to the Berg when a Launcher grenade smashes against Brenda’s back. She screams and falls, her face smacking into the concrete floor as electricity spiderwebs across her body.

“Brenda!” Chuck shouts, skidding to a stop. He drops to the floor immediately next to her to make himself a smaller target, dodging the white streaks of light as they shoot off Brenda’s body and dance along the floor.

Jorge and Thomas have also stopped, shielding themselves with the freestanding shelves that line the walls.

“Keep going!” Chuck grunts. “I’ve got her! Get the Berg ready!”

Jorge looks to Thomas, a question in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Thomas says. “She’s in good hands.”

But Jorge hesitates, looking back to Brenda.

“I’ll stay and help,” Thomas says. “But we need that Berg up and running, and none of us know how it works.”

Jorge’s mouth presses into a thin line, then lets out a grunt. “I’m trusting you, _hermano,_ ” he says, pointing a finger at Thomas threateningly, but then he’s running the last few yards to the Berg, disappearing to the other side.

Thomas takes off at a run, diving and sliding across the concrete floor to Brenda’s other side. Her face has gone deathly pale; blood drips from her nose and drool trickles from her mouth as her limbs shudder and spasm. The electricity is still sizzling across her body, the edges of her medical scrubs completely scorched. Her eyes are frozen wide with shock and terror and pain.

Chuck is looking at her, and the expression on his face makes Thomas think that it was Chuck who had been shot by the Launcher. He looks like he’s in agony. Thomas can see the faint sheen of tears in his eyes as the hangar is lit up by bursts of light from the grenades that Newt and Minho are still firing at the guards.

“We can’t move her yet,” Chuck says, sounding hoarse. “Need to wait for the electricity to die down.”

“It’s going to be okay, Chuck,” Thomas says.

Chuck glances over to him, and the look in his eyes tells him that Chuck knows he’s full of klunk.

Thomas shuts his mouth and waits.

There’s the terrible sound of shouts and gunfire and electricity, and Thomas isn’t in a position where he can see Minho or Newt – he doesn’t know if they’re okay, if they’re still fighting, or if they’re both dead and him and Chuck are practically sitting ducks, just waiting for WICKED to find them.

Finally, _finally,_ Newt and Minho reach the three of them, dropping down to the ground.

“No!” Thomas shouts, just as Chuck yells, “Get to the Berg! Help Jorge!”

Thomas grips Minho’s hand. “We’ll get Brenda there – you guys take cover behind the hatch door. Wait until we start moving, then cover us. Fire like crazy until we get there.”

Minho nods, scrambling away, grabbing Newt as he goes.

“Come on already!” Minho yells once him and Newt are ready.

Thomas looks over to Chuck, nodding once. They both grab her, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders so she hangs between them, limp. A zip of electricity shoots up both their arms, but the strength of the bolts have faded considerably, and it’s manageable between the two of them. They run forward – the Berg isn’t too far away.

Then pain erupts along the side of Thomas’ leg – a bullet must have grazed him. He tries not to feel grateful that at least the bullet hadn’t embedded itself in his thigh, leaving him to bleed out. A furious scream erupts from Thomas’ mouth, and he pushes that much harder forward.

Thomas can see Minho standing near the Berg’s cargo door, shielded as much as he can while he shoots at the remaining guards. He’s swapped out his Launcher for an actual gun, and he’s pointing it straight ahead, definitely not at leg height like Brenda had been. He’s shooting to kill.

As they reach the hatch door, Jorge drops his weapon and slides down the ramp to grab Brenda from Thomas’ side, and he and Chuck haul Brenda into the Berg. Newt and Minho continue to fire their weapons until their ammunition runs out. Thomas raises his own Launcher and empties his as well.

The guards must realize their time is running out – they sprint towards the Berg, weapons held up and at the ready.

“Forget reloading!” Thomas yells at Minho and Newt. “Let’s go!”

Newt and Minho scramble up the ramp, Thomas right behind them.

“Your leg,” Minho pants, turning back to Thomas.

“It’s fi–”

His head has just crossed the threshold when something thumps and cracks against his back. In an instant, he feels the burning power of a thousand bolts of lightning strike him at once. His entire body freezes, muscles and limbs locking out, and he sees Minho gaping at him, eyes wide, just before he crumples backwards, tumbling back down to the floor of the hangar. His body convulses, vision going dark.

~||~

Thomas can’t see anything. His eyes are open, he’s sure of it. But he can’t see anything.

Wait – no. That’s not quite right.

Brilliant white-blue light flashes in his vision, blinding him completely. He can’t blink, can’t scream, can’t do much of anything except lay on the floor in extreme agony – it feels like his skin is melting away from his muscle, from his bones. He tries to scream, to focus his attention elsewhere, but the electricity holds him tight in its binding – his arms and legs shake no matter how hard he tries to stop them.

Thomas can hear screams of his name, more shouting, gunshots. There’s the crackle of electricity in his ears, but he can’t tell if it’s the electricity that’s spreading through him like venom, or more Launchers being shot at his friends.

Minho appears just at the edge of Thomas’ vision, his expression a weird mix of rage and worry. “Why does it always have to be _you?_ ” he shouts. Then he’s grabbing under Thomas’ shoulders, screaming as the electricity climbs up his arms.

Thomas tries to wiggle out of Minho’s grip, tries to shout at Minho to _wait_ , but the grenade has him under its complete control.

Minho is screaming above him, his arms lit up in blue fire, but Thomas can feel his body getting dragged up and into the Berg. The electricity gripping his body seems to dissipate as Minho takes some of the energy on himself.

Thomas wants to yell at Minho for being a dumb shank, but then the cargo door is closing behind them. He realizes that the Berg is thrumming, a deep rumble adding to the aftershocks from that shuck grenade.

Even through the pain, elation fills Thomas in that moment. They’re doing it. Finally escaping WICKED. Who cares if this isone of the Trials? They’re leaving.

He tries to raise a hand, say something in celebration, but he just closes his eyes and passes out.

~||~

Thomas wakes to see Brenda’s face staring down at him. She looks worried. Her face is pale and marked with streaks of dried blood and soot, a nasty bruise forming along the line of her cheekbone. As he blinks his eyes fully open, he starts to feel the sting across his own body, wondering if his face looks as bad as hers.

“I just woke up too,” she tells him. “How do you feel?”

Thomas shifts onto his elbow, leaning into the small cot he’d been placed on, wincing at the pull of his jeans against where the bullet had grazed his leg. “Like a bucket of klunk.”

He peers around the cargo hold of the Berg, which holds nothing but mismatched furniture and sleeping boys. Minho, Newt, and Chuck are across the room, sleeping on a couple of ugly couches. Chuck’s socked feet are mashed into Newt’s face as they lay stretched out on one couch, sharing a big blanket. If it weren’t for the guns and assorted weapons strewn across on the floor, they’d just look like normal teenagers who passed out early at a sleepover.

Minho lays flat on his back on his own couch, arms carefully laid out overtop of his own blanket. They’re bandaged over with thick-looking gauze. Thomas can just see tendrils of red markings peeking out near his biceps, spreading up and outwards like a tree branch searching for the sun.

Brenda follows his gaze. “Apparently when he grabbed you, the electricity reacted with his skin differently than it did to you and me. Jorge fixed him up best he could.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Thomas asks, fear gripping his heart. Minho is hurt because of _him._

“Oh, yeah,” Brenda says. “He’ll be fine.” She turns back to Thomas. “We slept for ten hours.”

That shocks him back to the moment. “ _Ten hours?_ We’ve been flying for that long?”

“No, Jorge got us a hundred miles away, then landed in a clearing. He’s asleep now too – can’t have a tired pilot.”

“I can’t believe we both got shot by Launchers,” Thomas says ruefully, looking down at the burn marks on his arms. “I think I liked it better when I was the one doing the shooting.”

Brenda smiles slightly, looking at the matching burns on her own arms.

It’s quiet for a moment after that, but then Brenda starts telling him about the outside world, about what it’s like after the sun flares ravaged the landscape, then the virus decimated the population. She talks about how the areas near the equator are the only areas of wasteland like what he’d seen the Scorch, that everywhere else just has extreme changes in climate. She talks about cities, about their ruthless policies about keeping Cranks out and the towns set up within them to separate the healthy from the newly infected. She mentions getting _jobs_.

“You’re already thinking about getting a job?” Thomas asks.

“We need to eat, don’t we?” she replies. “Besides, we’re immune, it probably won’t be very hard for us to find some.”

Thomas glances over to Newt, a fresh wave of sadness washing over him. There’s a part of him wondering if escaping had been a mistake – if they had just lost their one chance at getting the cure for his friend.

But then he remembers that Teresa and the others had escaped along with them. He wonders if they had even gotten their memories back at all – what if WICKED had never intended to remove the Swipe, and the other teenagers had gotten fed up and broke out? He has so many questions that his brain is starting to hurt. Or maybe that’s just the after-effects of getting electrocuted, Thomas doesn’t know.

“Is there a way to find out where Teresa and the others went?” Thomas asks Brenda.

“Jorge already did – checked the Berg tracking system. They went to a city named Denver.”

Thomas feels a prick of alarm. “Can WICKED track us the same way?”

A mischievous grin makes its way onto her face. “You don’t know Jorge. He can manipulate the system like you wouldn’t believe. We should be able to stay ahead of them for a little while, at least. Anyways, Denver’s an obvious choice for a quarantine zone – the weather’s recovered pretty quickly because of the high elevation in the Rocky Mountains. As good a place as any to go.”

Thomas doesn’t really care about the location, he just knows that they need to find the other group, be reunited. He doesn’t know why he feels this way, not sure if he even likes the idea. The thought of facing his friends after they’d _left_ the four of them behind fills him with a type of anger he doesn’t know he’s ever felt before.

No, that’s not quite right. He knows what this emotion is – betrayal. It’s a terrible feeling and he’s sick of feeling it.

Brenda tells Thomas more about how cities work, about the immune population and their work for the government, about how they’re hated by the general population. “A lot of people even try to hide their immunity,” she finishes. “Or they go work for WICKED, like Jorge and I did.”

“So you two knew each other before?”

“We met in Alaska,” Brenda admits. “There was a gathering there for people who were immune, a hidden camp. Jorge became like an uncle to me,” she says with a smile. “He swore to be my guardian. My dad had already been killed, and my mom caught the Flare when I was young, pushed me away.”

Thomas swings his legs out of his cot, leaning his elbows on them. “But WICKED killed your dad – why would you go _work_ for them?”

Brenda looks at him gravely. “Survival, Thomas. I don’t really know what you went through growing up under WICKED’s wing, but it was most definitely a cakewalk compared to growing up out in the world. People are ruthless – they’ll do anything to live one more day.”

Thomas doesn’t respond, not knowing what to say. He also doesn’t know what it was like growing up in WICKED’s care – doesn’t know if they were nice in the beginning or completely evil straight from the get go. The memory-dream that came to him the other night is still bright in his mind, the scene of his smiling mother, Teresa shrieking with laughter, his dad alive and happy. He isn’t so naïve to think that either of his parents are alive anymore. His dad had been diagnosed with the Flare over ten years ago now, and his mother couldn’t have been too far behind. The only link he has to his past is Teresa. He doesn’t know how he feels about that.

“I wonder what Teresa’s doing,” Thomas says, surprising himself.

“Have you forgiven her?” Brenda asks.

Thomas shakes his head. “No. I don’t know. But I remember bits and pieces of us growing up. She’s my family – she always looked after me, always stood up for me. Cared about me, worried about me.” Even when Teresa had gotten mad at him, like she did when Thomas went into the Maze early against her wishes, she still worried about him. She must have worried about him for two years straight. “It’s just– After what she did in the Scorch…”

“You know, she really _did_ do all that stuff because she thought she had no choice,” Brenda says, reaching out and squeezing his hand. “And look around – Newt, Chuck, _Minho_. They’re your family too. They _all_ care about you and worry about you. Minho didn’t give himself those cool looking scars for no reason.”

Thomas nods, gripping her hand tight before letting go. He gives her a slight smile. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” she says. “But I do want to say that I’m sorry for everything. I’m on your side – a hundred percent.”

“Speaking of being on our side,” Thomas says, looking up at Brenda in interest. “How’d you break Chuck out of that surgery room?”

She shrugs, smirking. “Wasn’t too hard,” she laughs shortly. “But I’ll tell you. Chuck was struggling against the guards a lot – Janson told me earlier to sedate any of you if you were acting up. Then Chuck asked me a whole bunch of questions, and I was telling him that everything was an act, that Jorge and I were immune. I got the sedative all ready, then fake tripped and knocked out one of the guards with it. Chuck kicked at the other guard, and I got a Launcher and then shot him with it. Stole one of their keycards, then we went to find you guys. You know the rest.”

Thomas looks at her, eyes wide. “Wow.”

“I wanted to help him,” Brenda says. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, looking over to Chuck where he’s drooling onto the arm of the couch. Thomas does _not_ see the appeal.

“Look at you two,” Thomas grins. “You bonded so much in the Scorch. Don’t think I didn’t see you two holding hands in that pod.”

Her cheeks go bright red. “Shut up.”

Thomas throws his head back and laughs and laughs and laughs.

~||~

A couple hours later, Thomas goes to sit on the couch by Minho’s side, the ointment that Jorge used earlier in hand. He slowly takes one of Minho’s arms and unwraps the bandages, fully revealing the strange red markings that stretch from his palms, up to his forearms, coiling upwards above his elbow and over his biceps. The tendrils stop just short of his shoulders.

At the press of the cold salve to his skin, Minho blinks his eyes open. He must have already been close to consciousness.

“You’re awake,” Minho mumbles, shifting slightly like he’s trying to sit up.

Thomas presses a hand to his chest, making it clear to stay lying down, then continues his ministrations on Minho’s arm, starting to massage the salve into his hand and up his wrist.

“Thomas,” Minho groans. “You’re the one that just got _shot_ and _electrocuted,_ and you’re trying to make _me_ feel better?”

“Have you _seen these?_ ” Thomas asks, thumbing over the tree-like markings that extend along the length of his arm.

Minho glances down at his forearm and shrugs. “Yeah. Jorge said they’re called Lichtenberg figures. He also said they usually only last twenty-four hours, but they don’t look like they’ve faded much.”

“ _Minho,_ ” Thomas says, cursing Minho’s blasé attitude. “These look _permanent_. Why’d you grab me like that?”

“Quit asking dumb questions, slinthead. That’s like me asking you why you came into the Maze after me, not once but _twice_.Why’d you help me through that lightning storm in the Scorch instead of leaving me for dead? Why’d you step in before Jorge–”

“ _Okay,_ ” Thomas interrupts.“Okay. I get it.”

“Good. Besides, I kind of like them.” Minho twists his uncovered arm around, trying to follow the markings as they curl around his skin. “Proof of my undying love for you,” he snickers.

Thomas glares down at Minho. “Shuckface.”

“But seriously, shouldn’t you be lying down or something?” Minho asks.

“I’m fine,” Thomas answers, passing over Minho’s elbow and moving up to his bicep. “A little sore, but Jorge bandaged up my leg and I feel as good as new.”

“That guy must have been a doctor in another life,” Minho says. “When he pulled that bullet out of you, back in the Scorch, I think I threw up.”

“You definitely did,” Newt sniffs from the other couch, eyes still closed.

Thomas huffs a laugh. “Sorry, Newt,” he says softly. “Did we wake you up?”

“Yeah, but it’s alright. At least I don’t have Chuck’s feet in my mouth anymore.”

Thomas fully laughs at that, looking through to the cockpit where Chuck is sitting with Brenda as Jorge teaches them the essential controls for flying the Berg. Thomas thinks it’s smart – it’d be good for one of them to know the basics just in case Jorge is incapacitated in any way and they need to make a quick getaway.

“Gotta take a leak,” Newt says. He shoves the blanket off and climbs to his feet, disappearing around a corner.

Thomas watches him go, then turns back to Minho, covering his arm in fresh bandages and unwrapping the other arm. Minho rolls his eyes, but lies back and lets Thomas do it nevertheless.

“It doesn’t hurt?” Thomas asks.

“Not really. Guess that shuck ointment is some type of miracle product.” Minho looks up at Thomas with puppy eyes. “Can I sit up?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Ugh.” Minho slumps back into the couch, arm going limp. Thomas continues massaging the salve into Minho’s skin. At least the action is doing _something_ to ease his guilt over being the reason for the markings in the first place.

“I’ve been thinking,” Thomas says.

“And what thoughts have been rattling around in that big beautiful brain of yours?” Minho asks.

Thomas rolls his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about the escape. How messy it was. Rushed.”

“So?”

“ _So,_ I’m starting to think that it wasn’t a Trial at all. That WICKED didn’t actually want us to break out. They fought like hell to keep us there.”

“But what about all that stuff about the Candidates?” Minho asks. “What you said in that room made _sense_ , Thomas. And plus, WICKED wanted to make you feel betrayed for a _reason_. I don’t know why they thought any of us would allow WICKED into our brains after what they did to you.”

Thomas makes a humming noise. “Yeah, I don’t have an answer for the whole betrayal thing. I still don’t get why they did it. Why it had to be Teresa to do it.”

“To put us on opposite sides,” Minho theorizes. “Remember when Teresa and Aris said they were doing the Swipe removal procedure? I automatically didn’t want to do it. Just because they were. WICKED didn’t want us to trust them,” Minho says. “They wanted us to break out – that’s the only answer.”

Thomas recognizes a fight that he’s not going to win, at least not right now, but he has to admit Minho has a point. He switches the conversation to a different track, continuing to massage further up Minho’s arm. “Brenda thinks we should go to Denver.”

Minho cuts a glance up at Thomas, eyes flashing. “But that’s where Teresa and the others went.”

“Yeah, I know. But there’s a reason why they went there. Apparently, there’s a doctor named Hans that can remove the stuff that’s in our brains that lets WICKED control us.”

Minho is silent for a moment, watching Thomas’ hands as they start wrapping his arm in gauze. “And we trust this guy?”

“Brenda says he’s against WICKED’s inhumane practices, that he escaped the headquarters a little while ago. We’re on the same side.”

Minho sighs. “I don’t like the idea of some random guy in my head, Thomas.”

“I _know_ ,” Thomas says. “But I can’t stand the fact that WICKED can still control us. Brenda thinks they won’t try anything because they can’t see us, but it’s only a matter of time before they catch up with us.” Thomas thinks of the blank, robotic look Jared had the day they escaped the Maze, Teresa’s tears in that shack in the Scorch. If WICKED gets close enough to control them, there’s no telling what they’ll make them do. The thought of Minho looking at Thomas with that blank, unknowing gaze makes him shudder. “We _need_ to get it removed, Minho.”

Minho, arms finally wrapped in fresh bandages, shifts so he’s sitting up, eye to eye with Thomas. “Let’s have a Gathering.”

A slight smile makes its way onto Thomas’ face. “For old times sake?”

“For old times sake.”

~||~

By the end of their meeting, Thomas has a headache. Minho plays devil’s advocate to every little thing Brenda brings up, but after hours of painstaking arguments back and forth, they all decide – unanimously – to go to Denver. Jorge comes up with the plan to land their unmarked Berg at a private airport with the story that they’re Immunes looking for a government transport job. They will be tested and branded as immune to the Flare, which will allow them into the city proper. All of them except Newt will go, since because he’s infected, will need to stay on the Berg until they figure something out. One way or another, they’ll have to get Newt to Hans in order to remove WICKED’s programming, but that’s a problem for a later time.

They all eat a quick meal, and then Jorge climbs into the cockpit to pilot, calling Chuck in after him to watch him boot up the Berg. Brenda follows close behind, leaving Minho, Newt, and Thomas at the table.

“You two should probably take a nap,” Newt says. “Sleep a couple more hours before we get there.”

“What, you not feeling sleepy?” Minho asks.

“Who knows how long I’ll be on this bloody Berg by myself? I’ll have nothing to do _but_ sleep. I’ll stay awake for now.”

“Good that,” Minho says, then rises from the chair to drop into the couch he’d been on previously. He holds out an arm to Thomas. “You gonna come cuddle before the world ends?”

Thomas exchanges a glance with Newt – _You asked for this_ – before dropping down next to Minho, stretching out alongside him. It’s a tight squeeze, but when have they ever _not_ slept all wrapped up in each other? Their hammock back in the Glade hadn’t been built for two people, but it’s not like it ever stopped them.

They lay facing each other, noses just inches apart.

“I want to apologize again, since the last time I did I thought we might die, so…” Minho starts, words quiet in the empty cabin. He lifts a hand to Thomas’ face, gently touching the spot where his elbow connected with Thomas’ jaw. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have picked a fight with Newt in the middle of all that.”

“Yeah,” Thomas agrees. “You shouldn’t have. But it’s okay – we all made it out. That’s what matters.”

Minho sighs, shifting forward to press his nose into Thomas’ neck, hand moving across his back to pull him closer. “Guess we just have to hope that doctor can remove WICKED’s shuck programming from our brains before they force us to kill each other.”

“Way to look on the bright side, babe.”

Minho pulls away slightly, grinning. “I am lookin’ on the bright side – I’m lookin’ at you.”

Thomas hates that he smiles at the cheesy line, but Minho kisses it away anyways. Thomas hums into the kiss, Minho’s lips salty and sweet from their earlier meal.

“I thought I told you two to take a _nap_ ,” Newt says, walking back into the room.

The two boys break apart, and Minho beams up at Newt. “We _are_ going to nap; this is our pre-nap ritual. Make out to annoy Newt – check.”

“If only I could be as immune to the Flare as I am to the antics the two of you get up to. I’ve heard – no, I’ve _seen_ – too much. Way too much.”

Thomas turns his head around at that. “Newt, for the _millionth_ time, it’s _not_ our fault you walked in on us in the showers that one night, we made it _very clear_ that–”

“Well, maybe to everyone else! So clear, in fact, that when the Gladers realized that I _didn’t know,_ none of them wanted to tell me! They were _all_ complicit in the bloody mental scarring.”

Minho and Thomas start snickering. No matter how many times Newt brings up the story, it’s always so goddamn funny. It hadn’t been at the time – Thomas and Minho had been absolutely mortified, and Thomas didn’t make eye contact with Newt for two full weeks afterwards. But they eventually got over it.

“Is Newt talking about that one night he walked in on you two in the showers?” Chuck calls out.

“Yeah,” Minho answers.

“Ha,” Chuck barks out. “Classic.”

“Chuck, I swear to god, if you tell that story to Jorge and Brenda–” Newt does an about face, marching back through the Berg until his voice is only a low murmur.

Thomas turns back around, curling further into Minho as he closes his eyes. “At least some things never change.”

~||~

Thomas falls into another memory-dream, and this time he’s twelve, sitting at a table across from an unhappy looking man. They’re in a room with an observation window.

“Thomas,” the sad man says. “You’ve been a little… distant lately. I need you to come back to what’s important. You and Teresa are improving greatly on your telepathy communication, and things are moving forward nicely by all estimations. None of that explains why you are acting in this manner.”

The man’s words are cold and unforgiving, and does nothing to make Thomas want to cooperate with him. He looks down at the brushed metal of the table, staring at the white gleam of the single lightbulb that hangs above them.

“You may as well work with me here, Thomas,” the man continues. “We won’t leave this room until I’m satisfied with your commitment.”

Thomas doesn’t move an inch, continuing to stare unblinkingly down at the table’s surface.

A hand slams down right where he’s looking, the sound reverberating throughout the entire room. Thomas thinks that the man’s hand must hurt. “We can do this the hard way, or we can do this the easy way. You saw what happened last time you refused to cooperate. Do I need to get Teresa again? Or maybe Minho this time – I see you two have gotten quite close lately. The best of friends, apparently.”

Thomas finally looks up at the man, sneering, but the man just leans back in his chair with his arms crossed, looking smug. He knows he’s hit a nerve.

Thomas pulls in a few deep breaths, thinking hard. He doesn’t agree with how WICKED is running things, why they force him and his friends to do these things, all in the name of a supposed cure. He doesn’t want to do anything they want him to do – it’s wrong. But what they had done to Teresa last time he acted out was cruel, and he doesn’t want to be the cause of her – or Minho – to go through that again.

“Fine,” Thomas says finally. “What do you want from me?”

The man finally smiles, but it looks cold, his eyes empty. “You’re going to answer all of my questions, and the sincerity better bleed from your pores. Understand?”

Thomas nods.

“Why are we here?”

“Because of the Flare.”

“I want more than that. Elaborate.”

The words flow out of him, without any feeling. He’s memorized them, over the years, emblazoned into his brain like so many other of WICKED’s heartless messages. “The sun flares pummeled the earth. Security in many government buildings was compromised. A man-made virus engineered for biological warfare leaked from a military center for disease control. That virus hit all major population centers and spread rapidly. It became known as the Flare. The surviving governments put all their resources into WICKED, who found the best and brightest of those who were immune. They began their plans to stimulate and map the brain patterns of…”

He continues on and on, breathing in and out with the words he hates.

Thomas watches his younger self recite these words back to this man, glaring the entire while, knowing he’s doing it to save Teresa or Minho from a terrible fate. Maybe he’s not so different from this twelve-year-old version of him. They’re on the same side – are fighting for the same things.

He’s been scared about getting his memories back, worried that the person he was in his past had been someone he would hate. But he looks at this younger Thomas and sees Chuck on his first day in the Glade – scared at the unknown, but a fighter.

Maybe if he were to get his memories back, it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Thomas turns, walking into the darkness, leaving the dream behind.

He sleeps.

~||~

When Thomas wakes, he knows he has to tell everyone about his dreams. They’ve gotten too frequent, and he’s certain now that they’re memories.

They crowd around Jorge in the cockpit so he can hear too, and Thomas tells all of them to stay quiet until he’s completely finished. He explains each dream to the best of his ability – memories of his life as a kid, being taken by WICKED when they found out he was immune, his training with Teresa, all of it. When he gets out all that he remembers, he waits for a response.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Newt says, irritated and distant. “Just makes me hate WICKED even more.”

“How long have you been having them?” Chuck asks.

Thomas blows out a breath, casting his mind back. “Since the Griever sting? All throughout the Scorch. A couple during Phase Three, a few after that.”

“Wait,” Minho says. “You’ve been having these for almost _two months,_ and you haven’t said anything? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know if they were anything at first, it’s all mostly of me and Teresa either as children or working with WICKED. The dream I just had was the first one to even mention you.”

“What about me?” Minho asks.

Thomas gives Minho a long look. “I was twelve. I wasn’t cooperating with WICKED. They threatened to do something bad to you if I didn’t do what they wanted. They’d done it before with Teresa, so I knew they weren’t bluffing.”

“We were only _twelve?_ Jesus,” Minho breathes. “Well, if I didn’t hate WICKED before, I definitely do now.”

“Maybe that’s why Teresa decided to escape with the others when they got their memories back,” Chuck suggests. “She remembered all the bad things WICKED did, and decided WICKED isn’t good after all.”

Minho scoffs. “She couldn’t tell that WICKED was evil when they willingly murdered teenagers for fun? If I ever see her shuck face again, someone’s going to have to hold me back.”

“Well, she _did_ leave, didn’t she? That puts us on the same side,” Brenda says. “They could help us, once we’re in Denver.”

Minho cuts a nasty glare over to Brenda. “Oh, yeah? When did _you_ change?”

“Huh?” Brenda replies.

“When did you become so shuck crazy against WICKED? They killed your dad, and you _still_ went to work for them. You did all the things they wanted you to do in the Scorch, and you were damn close to helping them put that mask on Chuck. When did you come so strongly to our side?”

Brenda sighs. She looks tired, but when the words come out, they’re laced with anger. “I’ve _never_ been on their side. Never. I’ve always disagreed with how they operate. But what could I ever do on my own? Or with Jorge? I’ve done what I needed to do to survive – same as you all.” Then her words go softer, and she cuts a fleeting glance over to Chuck. “But then I lived through the Scorch with you guys and it made me realize… well, it made me realize that we have a chance. To fight back.”

Minho still looks skeptical, but he lets it go for now.

“Like I told Thomas earlier,” Brenda starts again, “WICKED probably won’t start controlling you until they’re close enough to observe you. They won’t risk harming you – you’re still their test subjects, whether you like it or not. But that’s why we need to get to Denver. To get that device out of your brain. Who cares if Teresa is there? This is for your own survival.”

“We’re going and that’s that,” Thomas says, cutting off Minho’s grumble.

“Good that,” Chuck says. “I’m with you.”

Minho exhales heavily. “Alright. Fine.”

That’s three out of four. They all look at Newt.

“I’m a Crank,” Newt says. “Doesn’t matter what I bloody think.”

“We can probably get you into the city somehow,” Brenda says, ignoring him. “Just long enough to get that device out of your brain – we’ll just have to be really careful to keep you away fr–”

All in a rush, Newt turns to punch the wall of the Berg behind him. “First of all,” he bites out. “It doesn’t matter what’s in my brain because I’ll be too bloody far past the Gone for it to mean much of anything. Second of all, I’m not gonna die knowing I ran around a city of healthy people and infected them. No way.”

Thomas suddenly remembers the note that’s still in his pocket. His fingers itch to pull it out, read what’s inside. But then he pictures Newt’s face as he made Thomas promise not to read it until the time is right, the way he said _Break your promise and I’ll_ never _forgive you._

No one says anything.

“Well, don’t try so bloody hard to talk me into it,” Newt growls, expression darkening. “You all have fun gallivanting across the city. I’ll stay on the Berg.” Then he turns and stomps away, disappearing around the corner into the common area.

“That went well,” Minho mutters. “I’ll go talk to him.” Then he goes and follows his friend.

Thomas also turns to follow Minho into the common room, fingering the note in his pocket. What could it possibly say? And how will he ever know when the right time to open it has come?

~||~

“You guys ready for this?” Brenda asks.

The five of them stand outside the Berg, at the foot of the cargo door ramp, just a hundred feet or so from a cement wall with huge iron doors. Thomas sees where WICKED got their inspiration for the Maze from now.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Minho asks Jorge.

“If you _muchachos_ all keep your mouths shut, everything will go smoothly,” Jorge replies, just a slight edge in his tone. He had already explained the plan to them before they left the Berg – about their documents and their fake last names, that all the government will care about is the fact that they’re Immunes.

“Got it,” Chuck says, and he looks actually excited about what they’re going to find on the other side of that wall. “Let’s go.”

Jorge, Brenda, and Chuck all head towards the doors, Minho close behind. When Thomas hesitates for a split second, Minho turns back around. He sends Thomas a questioning look, tipping his head after the rest of their group.

Thomas wants to take his hand, but they don’t want to cause unnecessary attention – hence why Minho is wearing a long-sleeve shirt – so he settles for bumping his shoulder against Minho’s. Together, they walk to the iron doors, the walls growing impossibly taller the closer they get.

As they finally make it to the foot of the door, an electronic buzz sounds from somewhere above them, followed by a female voice.

“State your names and your business.”

Jorge is the one who answers. “I’m Jorge Gallaraga, and these are my associates, Brenda Despain, Chuck McConnell, Thomas Murphy, and Minho Park. We’re here for some information gathering and field testing. I’m a certified Berg pilot – I have all the necessary paperwork with me, but you can check it out.” He pulls a few data cards from his back pocket and holds them up to a camera in the wall.

“Hold please,” the lady directs.

If there’s a camera, Thomas figures anyone watching will be able to determine who they are in five seconds flat. WICKED’s most definitely sent out a call for missing fugitives, probably with their pictures and everything. They’re going to come busting out of there and bring the six of them back to that complex. They’ll separate Thomas and Minho again, put him back in the white room, for longer this time. Or maybe they’ll do something even worse.

After several long, mind-numbing minutes, the iron door swings outward, hinges squealing. Through the widening crack, Thomas can see a narrow alleyway, another huge wall with a door at the very end.

“Come on,” Jorge says. Then he steps through the door like he’s been doing it everyday since the day he was born.

Surprisingly, the process is quite simple, even if it is nerve-wracking. They each have to step up to a weird metal machine that blows air into their eyes and pricks their neck. Once they’re all confirmed to be immune, they pass through another hallway. At the end stands another set of doors.

They’re told to enter the detector one at a time – Jorge steps through into the small space, and the doors slide shut behind him. They wait only a couple of moments before a short alarm sounds. When the doors open, Jorge has disappeared.

Brenda goes through next, then Chuck. He doesn’t even hesitate before stepping past the threshold.

“See you shanks on the other side,” he says with a toothy grin, and the doors close behind him.

Thomas only has a brief moment of wondering if that’s the last time he’ll see Chuck again, if this has all been devised by WICKED and the revolving door is just going to drop them all back in their clutches before the alarm is sounding again. The lady’s voice comes back on, telling them that Minho is next.

Thomas barely resists grabbing Minho’s arm before he enters the tiny room, but Minho turns back to him anyways. “It’s going to be fine, Thomas.” He steps backwards into the room so Thomas can see his face before the door slides shut. _I love you_ , he mouths, and then he’s gone.

There’s a terrible, terrible minute where the alarm doesn’t sound – that Thomas expects WICKED to come in and apprehend him, and the others will be left wondering what happened to him, where he’s gone.

But then the alarm buzzes overhead and the lady is directing him to enter the detector. Thomas steps through happily, eager to follow his friends.

A rush of air hits him as several low beeps go off, and then the doors are sliding open and people are everywhere. His stomach drops as he can’t immediately see where the others are, but then there’s a flash of movement to the left that catches his eye, and relief floods into him. As Thomas joins his friends, he’s completely struck by all the activity around them – men and women alike fill a huge atrium topped with a glass ceiling far above. Through one corner, he sees a multitude of skyscrapers, nothing like the ones they’d come across in the Scorch.

Chuck is marvelling at the scene around them too, gasping in wonder and turning his head every which way. “What is this place?” he asks softly. “Who are all these people?”

Jorge shifts slightly, looking embarrassed, but Brenda’s expression melts into something like sadness.

“I keep on forgetting that you still don’t have your memories,” she murmurs. “This is a mall – it runs on the entire wall surrounding the city. Mainly shops and businesses.”

“Wow…” Chuck breathes, soaking in the sunlight.

“I’ve never seen so many people in…” Thomas trails off – a man in a dark blue jacket is approaching them, his gaze set on Thomas. He doesn’t look very happy.

Minho spots the guy immediately, automatically stepping slightly in front of Thomas.

The man reaches them, giving them all a curt nod. He announces, “We know some people escaped WICKED. And judging by the Berg you came in on, you’re part of that group. I highly recommend you take the advice I’m about to give you. You have nothing to be afraid of – we’re only asking for help and you’ll be protected once you arrive.”

He hands Thomas a slip of paper, spins on his heel, and walks off without another word.

Minho turns back to Thomas, looking as if he’s disappointed that he didn’t get to knock that guy around. “What does it say?”

Thomas looks down and reads it out to the group. “It says, ‘You need to come meet me immediately – I’m with a group called the Right Arm. Corner of Kenwood and Brookshire, Apartment 2792.’”

A lump forms in his throat as he sees the signature at the bottom of the note. He looks over to Chuck, then Minho. He feels the blood drain from his face.

“It… It’s from Jared.”

~||~

Thomas opens his mouth to explain who Jared is to Jorge and Brenda, but it turns out that they had started working for WICKED in plenty of time to know who Jared is and the role he played in the Maze’s end.

“Jared?” Minho asks, disbelieving. “But – I thought he was dead.”

“No, definitely not dead,” Jorge grunts.

“What?” Chuck asks. “But Minho–”

“Minho didn’t kill him,” Brenda tells them.

Minho stares at her. “He looked pretty dead with that knife sticking out of his chest.”

Brenda shakes her head. “You guys need to understand – what you went through after you escaped the Maze was calculated by WICKED to a T. Things didn’t actually go as they planned, but what happened stimulated enough interesting brain patterns that they let it slide. They wanted to see how the rest of the Trials would play out.”

“What does that have to do with Jared being alive?” Thomas asks.

“And what do you mean, that things didn’t go as planned? What did they plan?” Minho adds.

Brenda sighs, looking harried. “Look, I’ll explain, but… shut up until the end, got it?”

Everyone nods.

“Jared wasn’t meant to get hurt. WICKED’s original plan had been for Jared to throw the dagger at Thomas – they didn’t expect Minho to do what he did.”

“So I _was_ meant to die, same as Rachel,” Thomas says.

“What did I _just_ say?” Brenda says harshly.

Thomas mimes zipping his lips shut.

“The dagger wasn’t meant for you, Thomas,” Brenda continues, and then she looks over at Chuck with apologetic eyes. “It was meant for Chuck. They were going to force Chuck to step in front of you at the last minute. I heard that one of the Psychs designed the interaction to be a Variable, not only for all the Gladers who witnessed it, but also… Chuck in his last moments.”

Chuck just stares at Brenda, mouth agape.

“ _Chuck?_ ” Thomas manages to get out. “They were just going to _murder_ Chuck for the hell of it?”

“So when I threw that club…” Minho trails off.

“You were saving Chuck’s life,” Brenda confirms.

Minho and Chuck look at each other for a long moment, the heavy meaning of what Minho had done passing between them.

Thomas is still reeling over the information Brenda revealed – the fact that Chuck had been meant to die, wasn’t even supposed to make it through the Scorch. What was WICKED playing at? Why had they allowed Chuck to live?

Suddenly, Thomas remembers Chuck’s tattoo from the Scorch. _The Accessory._ He remembers what Chuck said back in that room after they’d all refused to get their memories back. _Maybe you guys are supposed to bring me on your adventure like I’m a fancy handbag or something._

Turns out Chuck hadn’t been too far from the truth after all.

“Anyways,” Jorge steps in. “WICKED fixed Jared up the best they could, but they couldn’t remove two years worth of psychological trauma. The last I heard of him, he’d gone absolutely mad – screaming in the hallways butt naked about beetles in his veins, gnawing on chairs. They had him transferred to another facility not too long ago. I don’t see how it could be him.”

“Maybe he escaped somehow,” Thomas says distantly.

“Anything’s possible, I guess,” Brenda says.

Chuck seems to snap himself out of stupor pretty quick, all things considered. He turns to Thomas, his voice only wavering slightly. “What do you think he means by the Right Arm?”

Jorge is the one who answers. “There are rumours about them all over the place. It’s supposed to be an underground group hellbent on taking down WICKED.”

“Even more reason to do what the note says,” Thomas decides.

Brenda looks doubtful. “I really think we need to find Hans before anything else.”

Thomas holds up the note and shakes it. “We’re going to see him. We need someone who knows the city.” And plus, this is the route that his gut is telling him to take.

“It could be a trap, though, Thomas,” Chuck says.

“Yeah,” Minho agrees. “We need to think about this.”

“No.” Thomas shakes his head. “I’m sick of trying to predict what WICKED is going to do, whether we’re ahead of them or they’re ahead of us. Sometimes they do things just to make me do the opposite of what they think I think they think I want to do.”

Everyone looks at him in confusion.

“Never mind,” Thomas says forcefully. “We’re going.”

~||~

Despite Thomas’ insistence on going to see Jared, he’s still taken aback when the door swings open to reveal the boy himself standing on the other side.

“Oh my god,” Thomas breathes. “It’s really you.”

Jared smirks. “In the flesh.”

He looks okay, all things considered. Brown hair cut short, with the same square jaw and blue eyes, but they look haunted like they never had in the Glade. When Jared had given them the warning about the Grievers taking one boy a day in the Homestead, he looked exactly like he did the day he disappeared, like he hadn’t aged a day. But he looks older now, and Thomas remembers Rat Man telling the boys before the second Trial to not trust their own eyes. He supposes he has WICKED to thank for that optical illusion.

Two years this guy was under the control of WICKED – how did he get here?

Jared’s eyes flick to the two boys behind Thomas. “Chuck, Minho,” he says, nodding to them both.

There’s an awkward moment where neither boy knows what to say – Jared was supposed to kill Chuck, and Minho was the one who threw that knife all those weeks ago.

In the end, Chuck just nods back and says, “Hey, dude. Long time no see.”

Jared looks down and away, stepping back to allow the five of them into his apartment. It’s bare of everything but the necessities – no clutter or anything that could be considered personal belongings.

“Homey,” Minho comments.

Jared ignores him, getting straight to the point. “I’m glad you guys came. Sit.” He gestures to a table and mismatched chairs.

Thomas takes a chair, sitting awkwardly, and everyone else follows suit. “Um, this is Brenda and Jorge, they–”

Jared cuts him off. “I know who they are. WICKED gave me my past back. Without asking, might I add.”

“What happened, Jared? At the beginning of the Maze, we thought you were dead. Aaron… he–”

“Yeah,” Jared says, voice raspy and eyes looking into the middle distance. “I was there.” He clears his throat, then begins the story. “Griever got me – sucked me up into its disgusting body, and _god,_ did it smell. Brought me into the Griever Hole, but didn’t kill me. WICKED never found out why – the Maze was still shiny and new, so probably faulty programming. Anyways, WICKED couldn’t erase my memories of the Griever Hole without erasing everything before that, and they couldn’t have me go back into the Glade after being missing for so long. It would have sent the wrong message, you guys never would have thought that people couldn’t survive overnight in the Maze. They didn’t know what to do with me at first, but eventually they realized they could use me later in the Trial, so they kept me around.”

That’s probably more words than Thomas ever heard out of Jared back in the Glade. He had almost forgotten the slight Southern drawl in Jared’s tone.

“Two _years_ though, Jared. You had barely been in the Glade for a month before going missing,” Thomas says.

Jared’s mouth twists, looking down to the table’s grimy surface. “I wish I could say I didn’t remember it all. But that would be a lie. It was mostly testing for that controlling device they put in our brains. Simulations, sometimes, to see how I’d react. I guess they were lucky the Griever ended up grabbing a kid who was immune.”

“That’s… messed up,” Chuck says succinctly.

“Yeah,” Jared agrees. He looks up at Chuck’s face with kind eyes. “I can’t believe how old you look. How different. Back in the Glade, you were so little. Young.”

A slight smile pulls at Chuck’s lips. “Can’t stay young in the Glade forever.”

With a raised eyebrow, Jared says, “No, I guess you can’t.” Then Jared looks over to Minho, expression serious. “Thank you for stopping me. From… you know.”

Minho looks completely stunned. “You’re… thanking me? Jared, I thought I killed you. In that moment, I… I _wanted_ to kill you.”

Jared’s quiet for a moment. Finally, he says, “At the end of the Maze, they’d broken me down to nothing. I was barely myself anymore. I had no willpower to fight back against anything they made me do. I resisted in the beginning, but eventually, I learned that it was useless. WICKED was going to do anything they wanted to me, no matter how hard I struggled.” Then he glances back up, straight into Minho’s eyes. “Because of you, I’m not a murderer. So thank you.”

“How’d you even survive it, though?” Chuck asks.

“Oh, Minho got me good, alright,” Jared says, pulling up the edge of his shirt to reveal the mess of his pale chest. It’s mottled with scars, fresh and old. Thomas recognizes the faint scars from the Griever sting – he has his own along his ribcage – but there’s no way Jared acquired all of these in the Glade. Directly over Jared’s heart is the worst scar of them all, and Thomas knows it was caused by Minho’s knife. How had Jared been able to survive that? “But WICKED didn’t mean for me to die, and they still wanted to use me. So they fixed me up.”

Minho stares at Jared’s chest, lips parted. But then he blinks, and his expression smooths out, going hard.

“There’s a part of me that wants to apologize,” Minho says. “But in that moment, it was either Thomas or you. And it turned out to be you. I can’t say sorry for saving his life.”

“No hard feelings, brother,” Jared says, letting his shirt drop. “You did what you had to do. Can’t say I haven’t done the same.”

“Hold on a minute,” Jorge says, speaking for the first time. “We need to get back on track. You need to tell us how you got here, every little thing that’s happened since you got shipped out of WICKED til you ended up sitting right where you’re sitting.”

“And how’d you know we were coming?” Brenda asks.

Jared nods, straightening up. “The guy who gave you the note – his name is Richard. He’s part of a group called the Right Arm. They have people in every city and town left on this crap planet. Their whole mission is to bring down WICKED, to use their money and influence for things that actually matter. But they don’t have the resources to disrupt an organization so huge and powerful. They want to act, but they’re still missing some information.”

“We’ve heard of them,” Brenda says. “How’d you get involved?”

“They have a couple of spies at WICKED’s headquarters. One person got to me, explained that if I faked going crazy, I’d be sent away. I almost didn’t do it, didn’t think that it would actually work. But I didn’t want to be their puppet any longer, not after they almost made me kill Chuck. Anyways, the Right Arm wanted somebody with inside knowledge about building functions, security, that kind of stuff. So they attacked my escort car and brought me here. As for how I knew you were coming, I got an anonymous message over Netblock. I assumed you guys sent it.”

Thomas looks over to Brenda and Jorge, but they just shake their heads.

“So it wasn’t you,” Jared says. “Might have been an alert, someone at headquarters setting up bounty hunters, maybe. Point is, once we knew about it, it was just a matter of hacking into the airport system to see where a Berg had shown up.”

“And then you brought us here to talk to us about taking down WICKED?” Thomas asks.

“That’s about the gist of it – won’t be easy though. But we’ve got two big problems on our hands.”

“Which are?” Brenda asks.

Jared takes a deep breath in. “Word is, the Flare is running rampant throughout this whole damn city. Apparently, there’s lots of corruption going on to hide it because the ones who are sick are all the government bigwigs. My guess is that it’s the same all over the world – there’s no way to keep the Flare out.”

“What’s the other problem?” Minho asks. “As if the first one isn’t bad enough.”

Jared meets each one of their eyes in turn. “Immunes are disappearing – vanishing into thin air. No one knows where they’re going. A little birdie told me they’re being gathered and sold to WICKED so they can continue the Trials. Start all over if they have to. Whether that’s true or not, the population of immune people in this city and others has been halved in the last six months. It’s causing a lot of headaches – the city needs them more than people realize.”

Well, that’s not good. The thought of WICKED starting the Trials over all again makes Thomas think that WICKED must consider them useless to the cause – what’s keeping them from being executed once WICKED does finally catch up with them?

“Don’t people hate Immunes?” Chuck puts in. “Maybe they’re being killed or something.”

Jared shrugs. “Could be. But my birdie is a reliable source. And this reeks of WICKED to the core. With the Flare spreading and the Immunes disappearing, there won’t be anyone left in Denver. And all the other cities, probably.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Jorge asks.

“Don’t you care that civilization is coming to an end?” Jared asks. “Cities are crumbling.”

“Of course we do,” Chuck answers. “But what do you want us to do about it?”

“All I know is that WICKED has one directive – to find a cure. And it’s pretty obvious that it’s never going to happen. If we had their money and resources, we could use it to actually _help_ people. To protect the healthy. I thought you guys would want that.”

Of course they want that. Desperately.

Jared keeps on going when no one responds. “We don’t have much, but we have to do _something_.”

“Jared,” Thomas says. “Do you know anything about another group that escaped WICKED? Probably about thirty-ish teenagers?”

“Of course,” Jared responds. “We found them too – gave them the same message I’m giving you. Who do you think my little birdie is?”

Thomas’ breath leaves him all in rush. “Teresa,” he breathes, and Jared nods. So she did get her memories back after all. Something in them must have convinced her to leave.

“She said she couldn’t agree with them starting the Trials all over again,” Jared tells him. “Said something about hoping to find you, too. But there’s one more thing.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Chuck says.

“Never is these days, Chuck,” Jared replies. “There’s a bounty out for a guy named Hans who used to work for WICKED. Apparently, he lives here now. WICKED thinks you came here for him, and they want him dead.”

~||~

Brenda immediately stands, heading for the door. “We need to go. _Now_.”

~||~

They don’t find Hans until the next day.

They leave Jared’s apartment, and Jorge gets them into a cheap motel after they purchase some clothes and food. Minho, Chuck, and Thomas search the Netblock as well as they can while Brenda and Jorge make dozens of calls to people Thomas has never heard of. After hours of work, they finally find an address that Jorge discovers through a friend of a friend. By that time, it’s late, so they crash for the night. Jorge claims an entire twin bed for himself, so Thomas and Minho stretch out together on the floor, letting Chuck and Brenda share the remaining bed.

Chuck protests, sounding faintly desperate. “Doesn’t it make more sense for you two to share the bed?”

Brenda smirks at him. “Scared to share a bed with a girl?”

Chuck’s cheeks go bright red. “No.”

“Then get in.”

Minho and Thomas give him smug grins from the floor. “Have fun, Chuckie,” Thomas singsongs.

“You guys are evil,” Chuck whispers at them, but he does pull back the covers gingerly, settling in awkwardly next to Brenda.

Jorge fixes Chuck with a death stare. “You touch her, I’ll kill you myself.” And then he rolls over, back to the room.

“ _Jorge,_ ” Brenda says, exasperated.

Thomas falls asleep to the laughter rumbling in Minho’s chest.

~||~

The next morning, they shower, eat, put on their new clothes, then take a cab to the apartment where they’ve been told Hans lives. It’s only in slightly better shape than Jared’s.

They climb four flights of stairs and knock on a metal door. A woman answers it, and she maintains that she’s never heard of a Hans in her life, but Jorge doesn’t let up. An older man with a gruff expression eventually pokes his head over his shoulder. He must recognize Jorge and Brenda, because he nods to the woman, gesturing further into the apartment.

“Let them in.”

It doesn’t take them too long to convince Hans, and Brenda is able to calm down what was sure to be a shouting match between Thomas, Minho, and Hans when Thomas reveals he doesn’t want his memories back, and Minho comes to his defense.

Finally, Hans shakes his head and stands from the table they’ve congregated at. “Give me five minutes to prep.” Then he disappears into another room.

As they wait, Thomas wonders if the man recognizes him. If he knows what he’d done for WICKED before the Maze. He rests his elbows on the table, holding his head in his hands. It’s starting to throb.

Minho rubs a hand on his back. “You okay?”

“My head–” Thomas gets cut off as a sharp slice of pain zips down his spine. But as quickly as it comes, it subsides. He sits up in his chair, startled. Before he can get any other words out, his entire body starts to spasm, convulsing so hard that he falls off the chair. His head cracks on the floor as he falls, and he struggles to get a hold on his wayward limbs.

Despite not having control of his body, his mind is clear. He sees Minho rush to his side, eyes worried and confused. Chuck is pushing back his own chair and coming closer, Brenda hot on his heels. Jorge is staring down at Thomas, shocked still.

“Thomas!” Minho yells, trying to hold down his arms. “Can you hear me? What’s wrong?”

Thomas tries to say something, tries to tell them that something’s terribly wrong, but he can’t get any words out. He has no control over what his body is doing. Adrenaline zips through him. What’s happening?

His arms and legs abruptly stop shaking. Minho immediately stops trying to hold him down, and Chuck’s reached his side now. Without asking them to, Thomas’ limbs start moving again, this time steady and deliberate. He gets to his feet, Minho and Chuck rising with him.

“Thomas?” Minho asks, gripping his upper arm. “What was that?”

Once again, Thomas tries to respond, tries to force words out. He’s clawing at his mental prison, holed away where he can’t access anything his body is doing. He tries to scream and can’t.

“You okay?” Chuck asks.

Panic clenches through Thomas as he keeps doing things against his will. He gives Minho a blank look, and words spill out of his mouth. He has no idea where they come from.

“I can’t let you do this.”

Then he turns on his heel, stalking down the hallway after Hans.

~||~

“That’s not Thomas,” Minho says immediately. “Something’s wrong.”

“Ya think?” Brenda shouts. She gets in Thomas’ way, stopping his progress down the hall. “Thomas, WICKED’s got you. You need to fight it!”

Thomas watches helplessly as his hand comes up and pushes her face away. She goes tumbling to the floor. There’s something in his mind that’s reminding him about the fail-safe in his brain if anyone tries to remove WICKED’s implant. He wants to scream at everyone to sedate him, but his mouth stays stubbornly closed and his body keeps on moving.

Jorge is the first to come to Brenda’s defense, but Thomas punches him in the face with a quick jab, his knuckles coming back bloody. Chuck steps into his view, and Thomas wants to yell at him to _get out of the way! I don’t want to hurt you!_ But Chuck holds his ground.

“You have to fight it, Thomas. I can’t let you hurt anyone else.”

In his mind, Thomas cheers at the hopeful words, but knows that his body is going to cut Chuck to the ground in two seconds flat. It ends up being ten seconds – who knew Chuck had such a strong uppercut? When did he learn that? Thomas’ head flies back, and he stumbles back a few steps, but then he’s on Chuck, a vicious elbow to the side of his face and he’s tumbling to the ground.

Thomas hates everything that he’s just done, even though he knows that he doesn’t have control.

Thomas’ feet carry him into the kitchen, his hand reaching out to grab a sharp looking knife off the counter. The knife twists in his grip, his eyes watching the gleam of the light shine off the blade, satisfied. But when he turns back to the open archway, Minho is standing in his way.

“I can’t let you do this,” Thomas’ mouth says again.

Minho’s gaze flickers down to the knife in Thomas’ hand, then back up to Thomas’ face. He looks scared – who wouldn’t be? – but he also looks determined. He’s going to fight. Thomas wants him to run in the opposite direction.

For a terrible, terrible moment, Thomas thinks that WICKED is going to make him watch as he murders Minho. They’re going to make him throw the knife just like Minho did to Jared in some cosmic twist of fate. They’re going to force him to watch as Minho bleeds out. Thomas doubles down in his effort to get control of his arm – just his arm. If only he could loosen his grip on that knife, just a little bit, then Minho will be safe, he’ll be okay–

The knife drops. 

In his mind, Thomas gasps, utterly shocked. It worked. Thomas’ head swivels to look down at the knife on the floor, as if confused as to how it got there.

Thankfully, Minho moves faster than Thomas, stepping into Thomas’ space and kicking away the knife out of the kitchen. Jorge’s hand shoots out to grab it.

“I’m sorry,” Minho says, and then he slams Thomas to the floor, chest down. He gets Thomas’ arms behind him, pressing his full bodyweight into keeping Thomas pinned on the ground. “I know you’re in there, Thomas. I’m not going to let you hurt anyone else.”

Thomas would cry in relief if he were able; instead, his body just thrashes harder against Minho’s hold, legs kicking and arms straining.

“Someone get Hans!” Minho shouts. “Chuck! Come get his legs!”

“No!” Thomas shouts, body thrashing harder against Minho’s hold. “No!”

Thomas can see Chuck and Brenda’s feet rushing across the floor with one eye, the other pressed closed as the side of his face is mashed into the dirty linoleum. The three of them have Thomas’ body pretty well pinned, and Thomas has stopped fighting so hard to get control of his limbs. He knows his friends will be able to hold him down, despite his body not getting the message.

Jorge and Hans appear at the entrance to the kitchen. Hans takes in Thomas pressed into the floor, three teenagers piled on top of him, and says, “I was afraid this would happen.”

“I can’t let you do this,” Thomas’ mouth says.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, babe,” Minho says. “You can shut up now.”

Thomas also wishes he would shut up.

“Hold him still as possible,” Hans says as he approaches them, syringe in hand. They’re finally going to sedate him. Thank god.

His body just struggles harder, back arching against Minho, trying to buck him off.

“Feisty one, ain’t he?” Jorge says as Minho adjusts his grip, shifting so his entire weight is being used for holding Thomas still.

Minho sucks in a breath to respond, but Chuck cuts him off. “Minho, if you say something gross, I’ll punch you in the nuts. I swear I will.” He grunts with the effort of keeping Thomas’ thigh pinned. “Jorge, you can’t just say klunk like that, he’ll tell you about their sex life.”

“Ew,” Jorge says with a grimace. “Noted.”

“You don’t know what I would’ve said, Chuckie,” Minho says, sounding strained. “This is a – just _hold still,_ will you, Thomas? – serious situation.”

“Oh yeah?” Chuck responds. “When have you ever been serious a day in your life?”

“Touché.”

Thomas hears a countdown, and then a prick of pain in his calf. It’s such an odd feeling of fighting against something so violently, but wanting it to happen so completely.

As the darkness closes in on him, his body stops fighting against itself, and Thomas finally gets full control of himself.

At the very last second, he murmurs, “I hate those goddamn shanks.” And then he’s out.

~||~

Lost in the dark haze of drugs, Thomas dreams.

He’s fifteen years old, almost sixteen, and he’s sitting on a bed. The room is dark, lit only by a lamp giving off an amber glow. Teresa is there – she’s pulled up a chair, and she’s sitting close. She has one of his hands in both of hers, clutching tight.

“We had to do it,” she’s saying.

One thought springs up in Thomas’ mind – he knows exactly what she’s talking about. _The Purge_. All at once, the memories come back to him like a crashing wave. There had been an outbreak of the Flare at headquarters. The rest of the teenage subjects had been isolated a few days previously for preparation of entry into the Maze – Thomas and Teresa had been the only ones there that were immune. They’d had to kill them all.

They’d had to kill them all.

“They wanted it to end this way, Tom. Better to die than spend years going crazier and crazier. They’re gone now. We had no choice, no better way to make it happen. It’s done, and that’s that. We need to get the new people trained and make sure the Maze Trial still gets done. We’ve come too far to let it fall apart.”

“I know,” Thomas says, but his voice sounds as dead as dust. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

For a moment, he hates Teresa, hates that following WICKED’s orders comes so naturally to her. But it’s fleeting. He knows that she’s trying to be strong for him, trying to make him feel better, like she always does. Even when he doesn’t deserve it.

At this point, Thomas has already had the thought of going into the Maze with Minho. He’s so done with WICKED, what they’ve forced him to do over the years. He’s ready to give them a huge middle finger in the coming weeks, but for now, he stays quiet. He’ll tell Teresa later.

Teresa clutches his hand tighter.

The dream continues, but Thomas turns to the vast array of memories that are floating around for the taking. He could remember, if he wanted. A picture floats up in the darkness of Minho – he’s younger, his hair shorter, arms free of scars and the red tree-like markings that cover his arms now. There’s a younger Thomas next to him. They’re maybe fourteen, eating lunch together in a cafeteria. The younger Thomas says something that makes Minho laugh, and the dreaming Thomas knows this is the moment when Thomas’ heart skipped a beat – he had felt something he’d never felt before in his life. A crush.

Thomas is tempted. So, _so_ tempted to walk into that memory, bask in the simple joy of knowing what Minho was like before all this. If he’s changed much. They both still fell in love, in the end, so Thomas supposes neither of them can be too different.

But there are darker memories swirling around too, filled with the knowledge of what exactly he did, to himself and to the other boys.

Thomas turns his back on it all. The past is the past. There’s only the future now.

He sinks into a dark oblivion.

~||~

When he wakes up, he’s no longer in the kitchen. Instead, he’s lying in a bed in what looks like a cramped lab, bedside tables cluttered with surgical instruments.

Thomas spots Minho immediately, sunk low in a chair, head lolling as he sleeps fitfully.

“Minho,” Thomas says, but his voice comes out dry and raspy. “Hey,” he tries again. “Minho. Wake up.”

Minho sleeps on. Curse Minho and his ability to sleep deeply just about anywhere.

Thomas reaches out an arm, and his shoulder is notably sore from it being wrenched behind him for so long and so forcefully. He slaps Minho’s knee, just close enough for him to reach it.

Minho startles awake. “Huh? What?”

“What happened?”

Minho sits up, already wide awake. “You back to normal, now? No stabbing tendencies? You have to tell me, I’m your boyfriend.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, and damn does it feel good to have control over his own body again. “Slinthead. What happened? Is everyone okay? Are we fixed?”

Minho nods through a jaw-cracking yawn. “Yeah, Hans did all three of us. At least, he said he did, and you seem okay now. Can you wiggle all your toes and fingers?”

Thomas wiggles his fingers happily in Minho’s direction, and Minho grins.

“Everyone’s fine,” Minho continues. “Jorge’s a little sore about getting punched in the face, but he’ll get over it. Chuck’s sleeping it off on the couch in the living room, and Brenda’s probably over there holdin’ his hand.”

“Shut up, Minho!” Brenda calls out from the other room.

“Am I wrong?” Minho shouts back.

Brenda’s silence is answer enough.

Minho turns his attention back to Thomas. “Do you remember what happened?”

Thomas sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yeah. It was like I was paralyzed, I tried so hard, but I couldn’t stop whatever was controlling me. Almost shuckin’ stabbed you.”

“But you didn’t. Even dropped the knife, didn’t slice my balls off. That’s a win in my book.”

Thomas laughs. “God forbid I rob the world of future little baby Minhos.”

Minho leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Mmm, we should get working on those cute little Minhos.”

“I don’t think it works that way, boys,” Hans says, entering the room and holding a little flashlight. He steps up next to Thomas, shining the light in his eyes one at a time. “Looks like your head is clearing up pretty well. The pain should be gone soon – your operation was a little trickier because of that fail-safe in your brain.” Hans gestures to Minho with a jerk of his head. “It didn’t help that _this one_ refused to stop looking over my shoulder the _entire time_.”

Minho shrugs, completely unrepentant. “I don’t know what you expected, Mr. Boss Man.”

Hans tips his head with raised eyebrows, conceding the point.

“So it worked?” Thomas asks. “WICKED can’t control us anymore?”

“Correct,” Hans responds. “And you won’t be able to communicate telepathically with your sister or Aris anymore.”

Thomas is only slightly surprised that Hans knows about the telepathy. Thomas supposes that if Hans worked at WICKED, there’s a high chance that he’d been the one who implanted it in the first place.

“Fine by me,” Thomas says. “Any sign of trouble yet?”

“No,” Hans replies. “But we can’t take any chances. My wife and I are going to leave, but I want to tell you something first.”

“Tell me what?”

Hans’ eyes are downcast. “I wish I could go with you to help, to fight. But I need to put my wife first. She’s my family – my first priority. I want to wish you luck. I hope you can do what I don’t have the courage to try.”

Thomas finds himself looking over at Minho, thinking about Chuck in the other room and Newt back on the Berg. He has a family too. He’d do anything to keep them safe.

“I understand,” Thomas says, looking back to Hans. “If we can stop WICKED, we’ll come back for you.”

Hans looks like he tries to smile, but just can’t manage it. “We’ll see. We’ll see about a lot of things.”

~||~

When Minho and Thomas walk back into the living room, Chuck’s just sitting up on the couch, rubbing his head. Thomas observes that Brenda is indeed holding Chuck’s other hand, and tries not to smile.

“What now?” Chuck asks the group.

Thomas knows they don’t have time to rest. And he knows what they need to do next. “We find our friends, convince them to join us. Then we go back to Jared. The only thing on my resume is a giant failed experiment and the torture of a bunch of kids. It’s time to add something new. We’re going to stop the entire operation before they do it to new Immunes all over again.”

“We?” Brenda asks.

“What are you saying, _hermano?_ ” Jorge adds.

“We’re going to help the Right Arm.”

No one says anything.

“Okay,” Minho finally says. “But first let’s get something to eat.”

~||~

They go to a coffee shop that Hans recommends to them, only a couple of blocks away. The four teenagers sit around a corner table while Jorge stands in line and orders food for them all.

As they wait, Thomas notices a red-shirted guard with a weird looking metal apparatus over his nose and mouth standing at the door of the café. He raises a weird instrument to people every so often, and Brenda tells them he’s testing people for the Flare.

But there’s something that keeps on catching his eye. It’s a man, sitting at a table across the room. He’s hunched over, elbows on his knees, a weird expression on his face. The coffee on the table next to him has gone long cold.

When Thomas points it out to Brenda, she just says that he’s probably on the Bliss, that he’ll be arrested if he’s found out. Thomas shudders. The guy keeps on staring at nothing, a distant smile on his face.

Jorge returns with their sandwiches and drinks, and they eat in silence.

When they’ve finished, Brenda puts a hand on Chuck and Thomas’ hands, keeping them sitting. Jorge and Minho look down at them, Minho with an eyebrow raised.

“I want to talk to these two alone,” Brenda says.

“Excuse me?” Minho responds, exasperated. “More secrets?”

“ _No_ ,” Brenda emphasizes. “Nothing like that. I just want to tell them something.”

Thomas meets Minho’s eyes. “Just go,” Thomas says. “You know I won’t keep anything from you. And she knows it too.”

Pacified slightly, Minho follows Jorge out the door, coming to lean on the window outside the café. He gives the three of them a sarcastic wave and a goofy grin, letting them know he’s not exactly happy.

“What’s up?” Chuck asks, turning back to Brenda.

“I know we need to hurry, so I’ll be super quick. It’s just, the three of us haven’t really had any time to be alone, and I need you guys to know that what happened in the Scorch wasn’t an act. I was there on a job and helped things play out, but I _did_ grow close to you, and it _did_ change me. There are a few things I think you deserve to know. About me, about Chancellor Paige, about–”

“No,” Thomas says immediately, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to know.”

“What?” Brenda draws back, looking surprised. She glances over to Chuck, but he looks just as shocked at Thomas’ assertion. “Why?”

“I’m only interested in what we’re doing from here on out – nothing about my past or yours or WICKED’s. Nothing. You can tell Chuck if you want, but I don’t want to hear it.”

“But–”

“No, Brenda, I’m serious. No more talking.”

She holds his gaze, but then looks back down at where her hands are clasped on the table. “Then I guess all I have to say is that I know you’re doing the right thing, going in the right direction. And I’ll keep helping as best I can.”

Nodding, Thomas rises from his chair, about to go join Minho outside when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. The Flare tester has entered the café, and he’s locked his eyes on the man from earlier, the one Brenda had suspected was on the Bliss.

Chuck notices that Thomas’ attention has been caught by something. He twists his head around to see what’s happening, and Brenda follows suit.

“We need to get out of here,” she says, voice laced with panic. “Now.”

“Why?” Thomas asks. He’s curious as to what’s about to happen.

Brenda is already standing, grabbing Chuck’s hand and hauling him to the door. “Just come on!”

All of a sudden there’s a clatter and a shout, and the man and Red Shirt go crashing to the floor.

Red Shirt starts yelling. His voice sounds almost robotic coming out of that metal mask over his mouth and nose. “We’ve got an infected! Everyone evacuate the building!”

The place turns into pandemonium, screams filling the air as everyone flees towards the single exit.

~||~

Thomas wishes he ran when Brenda told him to – there’s no way he can reach her and Chuck now. People push past him without a care, knocking him back into his seat. Thomas scoots the chair back and away from the mass of people rushing to the door.

Someone pounds on the window behind him and Thomas turns to see Minho with his fist pressed to the glass, Brenda, Chuck, and Jorge all standing next to him. Minho looks a second away from breaking down the glass himself.

“What are you doing!” Minho shouts through the window, voice muffled but clear enough that Thomas knows what he’s saying. “Get out of there!”

Brenda is motioning frantically for him to get out.

Thomas doesn’t have to be told twice. He gets his feet under him and joins the tail end of the people who stampeded out of the coffee shop.

When he gets near enough, Minho cuffs him on the back of his head. “You dumb shank,” he says. “You really want to be the next Immune that vanishes into thin air? Why’d you stay in there so long?”

“I… I wanted to see what was going to happen,” Thomas answers. The words sound supremely stupid coming out his mouth.

“I can tell you exactly what’s going to happen, _muchacho._ That poor soul there is going to be encased in some spectacular feat of technology, some type of blue gel that hardens over his entire body. It’ll make it easier for–”

Jorge cuts off as they watch a van screech to a stop just in front of the coffeeshop door. Four people pour out of the vehicle, each of them in those weird, green, bag-like suits, similar to the outfits of the people who had come to rescue Thomas after he had been shot in the Scorch. There’s no WICKED emblazoned on the chest, though, the material completely bare of any logo. They rush into the coffee shop without hesitating, one of them holding a blue plastic gun with an odd nozzle.

Jorge picks up right where he left off. “It’ll make it easier for _those_ people to pick him up and transport him to the Crank Palace, where he can live out the rest of his days with the rest of crazies until they reach the Gone. Then they’re shipped out to the wasteland towns, like the one we were at in the Scorch.”

“Sounds pleasant,” Minho says.

“It’s anything but,” Jorge assures him. “Imagine that silver metal ball that almost sliced Winston’s head off, but over the entire body. And it doesn’t even have the decency to kill you.”

“Thanks, Jorge,” Chuck says flatly. “That’s exactly what I wanted to think about right now.”

“Just saying how it is, _hermano._ ”

“Let’s just get back to the motel,” Thomas says. “Regroup, figure out where to go from there.”

“Anyone see a cab?” Brenda asks.

They all turn to the road, but it looks surprisingly empty.

“That’s odd,” Jorge says.

“That scene at the coffee shop _did_ send everyone scattering,” Brenda points out.

“I suppose. Well, no taxi. Guess we’re walking.”

~||~

They walk for hours, until the sky turns orange and purple with the setting sun. As it gets darker and darker, they all start to pick up the pace a little more, none of them wanting to be caught out in this town after dark.

It’s only gotten creepier and creepier as time has progressed. Jorge had said something earlier, about the city feeling like it was alive, ready to unleash something nasty at a moment’s notice. Thomas sees where he’s coming from.

It’s been a complete ghost town for so long that it’s almost a shock when they see someone on the horizon, heading straight towards them.

“Maybe we should cross the road,” Brenda suggests. “Could be a Crank.”

“I’m with you,” Chuck says.

But the person is running now, they’re almost at the group. Thomas can see now that it’s a man, hooded with sunglasses on despite the lack of sunlight, face completely obscured.

“Come on!” Brenda shouts, stepping into the road, her hand linked with Chuck’s.

Then the man is pushing straight into Thomas, pressing something small and hard into his chest. Thomas’ hands fly up to where the man’s hand has touched him, thinking he’s just been stabbed, but no pain blossoms from his chest. In a rush, the man is gone, disappearing behind them down an alleyway. He never even said anything.

“Jesus,” Minho says, sounding like he’s just run a marathon, staring into the gloom after the man. “Why are random people so obsessed with you, Thomas?”

“Hey, what’re you holding?” Jorge asks, stepping closer to peer at Thomas’ hands.

Thomas looks down at his hands, at the small black rectangle the man has given him. He flips it over in his hand. “I… I don’t know.” He holds it up for Jorge to see, but Jorge only looks more confused once he’s realized what it is.

“It’s a phone. A burner. What the hell?”

The phone starts ringing.

Thomas looks at it in his palm, still outstretched towards Jorge. “What do I do?”

“Pick it up,” Chuck suggests. “Maybe it’s Jared.”

That makes Thomas feel better about the whole situation. Chuck is probably right. Jared did say to go back to the apartment for more information though – but maybe he’d learned something too urgent to wait for them to come back. Maybe he knows where Teresa and the others are.

Thomas flips the phone open, and the call connects immediately. He raises it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, Thomas.”

It’s not Jared. He gapes at his friends as he immediately recognizes the voice on the other side of the phone.

It’s Janson. The Rat Man.

~||~

Thomas doesn’t respond for long enough that the Rat Man says, “Close your mouth, you’ll let the flies in.”

That spurs Thomas into action, shoving all of his friends into the alleyway to their left side, until they’re all crouched behind a dumpster, hidden from view.

“Thomas, is everything alright?”

“What’s going on?”

“Who’s on the phone?”

“Shhh!” Thomas waves a hand to shut them all up.

“Rude,” Janson says.

“Not _you_ ,” Thomas says snottily into the phone. “How’d you find us? How can you see us? Who was that guy who dropped off the phone?”

“Oh, do relax, Thomas. There are cameras everywhere in Denver. Wasn’t too hard to find you.”

The mention of cameras is a tad relaxing – if they’re using cameras to watch them, then that means they aren’t here in person. But the existence of someone who was willing to do WICKED’s bidding and give them the phone is a bit more problematic.

“So you’re not here in person, then?” Thomas asks.

Minho is giving him a look, so Thomas mouths _Rat Man!_ at him, then slices a hand across his neck to tell him to cut it out and stop distracting him.

“A friend of a friend dropped the phone off for me. Owed some people some favours. And no – I’m not in Denver. If you’d gotten your memories back from Hans, you’d know that many of us here at WICKED are not immune, and the outbreak is so bad in Denver that we’re not willing to risk getting infected by coming to fetch you.”

Thomas appreciates the information, but he wonders if he can trust it, or if Janson is just trying to lull him into a false sense of security.

Rat Man continues. “This was our safest method of contacting you. I’m urging you to bring yourself in and complete the testing.”

Thomas wants to scream down the line, crush the phone under his feet and throw it into the dumpster. But he knows he has to play this right. If Janson can find them that easily, he doesn’t doubt his ability to fight dirty.

“We’ve been using our data to select a Final Candidate, and you’re the one. We need you, Thomas. It all rests on your shoulders.”

Never in a million years would Thomas willingly go back to WICKED, leave Minho and the others here. Never. No way. But saying that won’t get rid of Janson. Instead, he pauses and pretends to think about it, trying to put on an act if Rat Man can see him on a camera somewhere. “I’ll think about it.”

Minho reaches out and slaps a hand to Thomas’ shoulder. _What the hell?_ he mouths.

 _Cameras. They’re watching,_ Thomas mouths back, then puts a finger to his lips.

“I trust that you will,” Rat Man replies. “I do feel obligated to tell you something, Thomas. Mainly because I think it will influence your decision. Make you realize that you have to do what we’re asking.”

Thomas sighs. “What?”

“It’s about your friend Newt. I’m afraid he’s in a tremendous amount of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Thomas asks, stomach dropping.

“I know you’re well aware that he has the Flare, and that you’ve already seen the effects taking place.” Janson pauses, and Thomas realizes he’s not going to say something until Thomas acknowledges him.

“Yeah.”

“Well, he seems to be succumbing to it rapidly. The fact that you were already seeing symptoms of anger and loss of concentration before you left means he’ll be spiralling into madness very soon.”

Something like a fist clenches Thomas’ heart. He had accepted that Newt wasn’t immune, but he thought it would take weeks, months even, before it got really bad. He remembers Brenda talking about excessive brain stimulation causing the Flare to work faster. What Janson is saying makes sense – the stress of everything seemed to be making Newt fall sooner than expected. And they’d left him all alone outside the city.

“You could very well save him,” Rat Man says quietly.

Thomas shuts his eyes for a moment, pressing the phone to his mouth as he tries to force the anger down. “You enjoying this?” Thomas asks, raising the phone back to his ear. “Because sometimes it seems like you enjoy it a lot.”

“I’m just doing my job, Thomas. I want this cure more than anyone else. Except for maybe you, before the Maze.”

 _I hate you_ , Thomas wants to say. Instead, he tells Janson, “Just hang up.”

“I hope you come,” Rat Man replies. “You have a chance to do great things. I’m sorry we have our differences, but Thomas – time is running out. You need to hurry.”

“I’ll think about it,” Thomas says, forcing the words out again, even though the thought of seeing Rat Man in the flesh makes his skin crawl.

When Janson speaks, it sounds like he’s smiling. “That’s all I can ask for. I hope to see you soon.”

There’s a click, and then the call cuts out. Thomas flips the phone shut, immediately tossing it to the pavement and crushing it under the heel of his foot.

Once the phone is destroyed, everyone takes that as their cue to rise to their feet, stepping out from behind their hiding spot.

“You’ll think about what?” Minho asks immediately.

Thomas bends to pick up the pieces of the phone and throws them into the dumpster behind him. He won’t be needing it again. “Think about going back to WICKED and being their lab rat again. Apparently I’m the Final Candidate. The cure rests on my shoulders.”

“You don’t actually–”

“Give me _some_ credit, Minho!” Thomas bursts out. “Of course I’m not going back there, _god._ We have different things to worry about.”

“Like what?” Chuck asks. “What’d Rat Man say?”

Thomas meets Chuck’s gaze. “Newt. He’s in trouble. Janson thinks that the Flare is progressing faster in Newt than normal. We need to go check on him.”

“He said that?” Minho asks.

“Yeah,” Thomas confirms. “And as much as I hate it, I believe him. You all saw how Newt’s been acting.”

Minho’s eyes are full of pain, and he knows that the look is mirrored on his own face. On Chuck’s too. The thought of Newt alone in that Berg, with nothing but his own decaying thoughts for company makes Thomas want to tear his hair out. Why did they think it was a good idea for him to stay there alone?

“We need to check on him,” Thomas repeats. He turns to Jorge. “How long is it to the Berg?”

“We can’t check on him tonight, _muchacho,_ ” Jorge says, apologetic.“It’s too far, and I don’t want to be walking around this city in the dark for longer than we have to. The motel’s not too far – let’s stay there for the night and we’ll get to the Berg in the morning.”

Thomas sighs, but guesses that’s the best they’re going to get. He also doesn’t really feel like staying out here in the shadows. It doesn’t feel safe.

“Lead the way,” Thomas says.

~||~

When they get back to the Berg the next morning, Newt is gone.

They search the Berg from top to bottom, but there’s no sign of him.

Eventually, Minho finds a small piece of paper tucked between the couch cushions. When he reads it, his knees give out, and he drops to the couch, looking utterly defeated.

“What?” Thomas asks. “What is it?”

Minho doesn’t say anything, just stares down at the paper lifelessly.

“Minho. What’s wrong?”

“Come see for yourself.”

Thomas sits on the couch next to him, and Minho holds out the piece of paper.

It’s a note. In Newt’s cramped handwriting, it says, _They got inside somehow. They’re taking me to live with the other Cranks. It’s for the best. Thanks for being my friends. Good-bye._

Chuck walks in and sees Thomas and Minho on the couch, and Thomas holds up the note wordlessly.

Thomas watches as Chuck’s face pales as the words sink in.

“He’s… He’s gone?” Chuck asks, looking at the other boys.

“No,” Minho says, standing up suddenly. “ _No._ ” He bangs on the walls of the Berg until Jorge and Brenda come running into the common room.

“Where’s the fire, _hermano_?”

Minho ignores Jorge. “The Crank Palace. You talked about it earlier,” Minho says, and Thomas knows that whatever Minho is about to say, he’s going to agree one hundred percent. “Can you get us there?”

“Why on earth–”

“They took Newt,” Chuck says softly. His eyes are full of unshed tears when he looks up at the rest of them, over to Brenda.

“We need to go get him,” Thomas says.

“Can you… get us there?” Minho repeats, tone deadly.

Thomas is expecting Jorge to protest, but instead he grins. “One rescue mission coming up, _muchachos._ Buckle up.”

~||~

The guards don’t look happy to see a huge Berg land right outside the Crank Palace doors, but as soon as Jorge is flashing his cash card, they seem much more willing to let them through the doors.

“You wanna come in here and hang with the Cranks? Be my guest, especially after what’s been going on lately,” one guard says, taller than the other one by at least a foot, thick mustache on his upper lip. “Just don’t cry to us when you lose an eyeball.”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s been going on lately’?” Thomas asks.

“It isn’t a very nice place, that’s all you need to know,” the shorter guard replies. He’s bald and keeps on coughing and spitting on the pavement next to him.

“Any new…” Saying the work _Cranks_ didn’t feel right to Thomas, so he continues on with, “… _people_ that were brought in here in the last day or two? You guys have a register or something?”

“Who you lookin’ for?” Baldy says. “A he or a she?”

“A he,” Chuck replies. “Few inches taller than me, blonde hair, walks with a limp.”

“I might know something. But that all depends on just how much cash you got on those cash cards.”

“We’ve got money, shuckface,” Minho interjects harshly. “Now tell us where our friend is.”

Mustache raises his Launcher, pointing it straight at Minho. “Show me your cash card or this conversation is over. I want at least a thousand.”

Minho jabs a thumb over to Jorge as he keeps a laser glare on the guard. “He’s got all the money, you greedy slinthead.”

Jorge dutifully pulls out his card and waves it in the air. “You’ll have to shoot me dead to take this, and you know damn well it won’t do you any good without my prints. You’ll get your money, _hermano._ Now show us the way.”

Mustache and Baldy exchange a glance, having a wordless conversation. They must come to an agreement, because then Mustache is lowering the Launcher and Baldy is gesturing for them to go through the huge gate.

“Enter at your own risk,” Baldy says. “If a body part is detached in an unfortunate incident with a Crank, I highly recommend to leave said body part behind and run like hell. Welcome to the Crank Palace.”

~||~

As they make their way through the Crank Palace, Thomas realizes that it’s almost like a little town squirreled away in the middle of nowhere, boxed in with a sturdy wooden fence. There’s convenience stores looking the worse for wear, lights flickering and shelves completely empty, and almost every window in this place is broken, glass littering the dirt pathways. Mustache admits that putting glass in a place like this had been a mistake – it’s the number one item used for weaponry.

Baldy is also quite talkative as they walk, telling them about how the Palace is set up, where the homes are, the stores, the downtown area that they call the Central Zone. The Palaces had been conceived as humane options – refuges for the newly infected until they reached a point where the madness had taken over. Like Jorge mentioned earlier, once the Cranks reach the Gone, they’re shipped to the remote locations that have been hit the hardest by the sun flares. Projects like this one had sprung up all around the world.

But the well-intended idea had gone very bad. Filling a town with people who had no hope and knew they were about to descend into a rotten, horrific spiral of insanity ended up creating some of the most wretched anarchic zones ever known to man. With the residents knowing that no punishment could come close to the fate they were facing, crime rates grew astronomically. The Crank Palaces had become havens of debauchery.

As they pass dilapidated building after dilapidated building, Thomas thinks about how terrible it would be to live here. Even if their group hasn’t seen any people yet, he has the feeling they’re being watched. In the distance, he hears someone yelling some obscenities, then a scream. A giggle, surprisingly close.

Thomas spins around, thinking someone has snuck up on them, but there’s no one there.

It puts him on edge.

Mustache talks about how the Crank Palaces, as bad as they are, are necessary. It’s not like they can roam around the streets with healthy people, and they don’t want to drop them with all the other psycho Cranks in the wasteland towns or else they’d get eaten alive. No government has gotten desperate enough to execute infected people on sight, so they’re left with what they’ve got.

The guard’s statement leaves Thomas with a heavy sense of gloom. The world is in pitiful shape. Maybe he _is_ being selfish by not helping WICKED complete the tests.

As they get farther into the Palace, the guards eventually tell them to stop and to wait while they venture further into the complex and find their friend. Thomas and the others huddle in some shade behind one of the shacks.

It seems like they wait for hours, but it’s probably no longer than thirty minutes. Thomas is kind of surprised that the Crank Palace is so big that it takes the guards so long to return.

And when they get back, they don’t have Newt with them.

“What gives?” Minho asks immediately. “Where’s our friend?”

“Did you find him?” Chuck adds on.

“Oh, we found him, alright,” Baldy says. “Turned when we called his name, and seemed to know who you all were.”

“So where is he?”

“Well…”

“Well, _what?_ ” Minho pushes.

“He said – and very pointedly, might I add – to tell you guys to get lost.”

~||~

“Show us where he is,” Minho says curtly.

The guard holds up his hands. “Did you not hear what I just said?”

“Your job isn’t _done_ ,” Minho insists.

Thomas is with Minho on this one, and he sees the determined look on Chuck’s face. If they’re this close to Newt, then they’re going to talk to him.

Baldy shakes his head adamantly. “No way. You asked us to find your friend, and we did. Give us our money.”

“Does it look like we’re with him yet?” Jorge asks. “No one makes a dollar until you get us all together.”

Brenda doesn’t say anything, but she stands shoulder to shoulder with Jorge, nodding to show her support.

The two guards don’t look pleased, and they start furiously whisper-yelling at each other.

“Hey!” Minho barks. “If you want your money, let’s _go!_ ”

“Fine,” Mustache says, and Baldy gives him an exasperated glare. “Follow us.”

~||~

They find Newt in a bowling alley, holed into the corner way across the room.

The five of them – sans the guards, who said they’d wait outside for them – pick their way across the large space. This place definitely isn’t used for bowling anymore – probably hasn’t been for years. The waxy floorboards of each lane have been ripped up, and where the pins used to sit at the end, small fires have been built. There’s at least one person sitting at each one, poking it to make sure it stays alive.

Sleeping bags and blankets are spread out across the floor, and they have to step around and over sleeping Cranks to get over to Newt.

They’re about ten feet away from him when Newt suddenly speaks up in a loud, booming voice that echoes off the dark walls of the bowling alley. “I told you shanks to _get lost!_ ”

Minho stops, and Thomas almost runs into him. Chuck hovers behind them, peeking over their shoulders.

“We need to talk to you,” Minho says, stepping a few feet closer.

“Don’t come any closer,” Newt says, voice soft but full of menace. “Those thugs brought me here for a reason. They thought I was a bloody Immune holed up in that shuck Berg. Imagine their surprise when they could tell the Flare was eating my brain. Said they were doing their civic duty when they dumped me in this hellhole.”

“Come on, Newt,” Chuck says, following after Minho. “We’re here to break you out. Doesn’t look like anyone here cares who stays or goes.”

Newt slowly twists around to face them, and Thomas’ stomach drops when he sees that the boy has a Launcher clutched in his shaking hands. He looked ragged, like he’s been running and fighting and falling down cliffs for three days straight. But despite the anger in his eyes, Thomas can tell that the madness hasn’t taken him yet.

“Whoa there,” Minho says, taking a step back at the sight of the Launcher. “No need to point that at my face while we talk. Where’d you get that thing anyway?”

“I stole it,” Newt answers. “Took it from a guard who made me… unhappy.”

The presence of the Launcher makes Thomas nervous – Newt’s fingers are hovering over the trigger, and it’s still pointing directly at Minho.

“I’m… not well,” Newt tells them. “Seriously. I appreciate you shanks coming for me, but it was all for nothing. This is where it bloody ends. This is where you turn back around and walk out that door and get back on your Berg and fly away. Understand?”

“No, Newt,” Minho says, the frustration in his voice escalating. “I don’t understand. We risked our necks for you getting into this shuck place and now you want to _stay?_ No. You’re our friend, and we’re taking you home. You can whine and cry all you want while you go crazy, but you’re going to do it with _us._ Your _family_. Not these shuckin’ Cranks.”

Newt suddenly jumps to his feet, so quickly that Thomas almost stumbles backwards. He raises the Launcher, pointing it straight at Minho. “I _am_ a Crank, Minho! I _am_ a Crank! Why can’t you get that through your bloody head? If you had the Flare, and knew what you were about to go through, would you want your friends to stand around and watch? Huh? Have Tommy watch you slowly go crazy, thinking about how you want to rip off his fingers and eat them? Or poor Chuck? Would you want that?”

Minho doesn’t say anything, but he does turn back to Thomas, his expression unreadable.

“And _you,_ Tommy,” Newt spits. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here and asking me to leave with you. A lot of bloody nerve. The sight of you makes me sick.”

~||~

Thomas can't think of any possible explanation for the statement. “What are you talking about, Newt?”

Newt doesn’t respond, just keeps staring at Thomas, Launcher aimed at his chest. But then his face softens, and he lowers the weapon. He looks to the floor, lost.

“I’m sorry, guys. I’m sorry. I need you to listen to me – I’m getting worse by the hour, and I don’t have many sane ones left. I need you to _leave_. Now.”

The three boys standing in front of Newt all open their mouths to argue, but Newt holds up a hand. “No! No more talking. Just… please. Please leave. I’m _begging_. I’ve never asked for anything from any one of you, but I’m asking now. I want you to leave me here. There’s a group of people I’ve met that are a lot like me, and we’re planning to break out and head to Denver later today. I don’t expect you to understand, but I can’t be with you guys right now. It’s going to be hard enough for me now, and it’ll only be worse if I know you have to witness it. Or worse, if I hurt you. So let’s say our bloody goodbyes and then you can promise to remember me from the good old days.”

“You know we can’t do that,” Minho says.

“Shuck it!” Newt yells. “Do you have any bloody clue how hard it is to remain calm right now? I said my piece, and I’m done. Now get out of here. Do you understand me? Get _out_ of here!”

Someone pokes Thomas in the shoulder, and he spins around to see that a group of Cranks have gathered behind them. The man who had poked Thomas is a tall man, with long and greasy hair. He reaches out again and pokes a dirty finger into Thomas’ chest.

“I believe our friend has asked you to leave him alone,” the guy says.

“This is none of your business,” Thomas replies. He can sense the impending danger, but right now, he’s only focused on getting Newt out of here, and these Cranks are proving to be a problem.

“He was our friend before he came here,” Chuck adds in a hard voice.

The man slicks his hair back with his palm. “That boy’s a Crank now, and so are we. That makes him our business. Now _leave_ him… _alone._ ”

Minho shoulders his way in front of Thomas, getting in the lead Crank’s face. “Hey, psycho, maybe your ears are clogged with the Flare and you didn’t hear them. This is between _us_ and _Newt_. Get lost.”

The man scowls, and Thomas sees a flash of light and movement, and he sees the shard of glass in the man’s raised fist. Blood drips from where he holds it.

“I was hoping you would resist,” he grins. “I’ve been bored.”

His arm slices forward, aimed for Thomas’ face. Thomas ducks to the floor, reaching up for the guy’s arm, deflecting the blow. Chuck is there in an instant, swatting the guy’s hand away and sending the glass shard flying. Then Minho is on him, tackling the Crank to the ground.

“Stop it!” Newt screams. “Stop it now!”

Thomas waits for a split second to reach forward and grab Minho, hauling him back to his feet. Minho looks none too happy to be taken from the fight. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, and there are cuts all over his face.

Newt is standing with the Launcher aimed at everyone, eyes wild, mouth twisted into a snarl. “I’ll shoot. I won’t give a buggin’ piece of klunk about who gets hit.”

The man with the greasy hair stumbles to his feet, pushing past Thomas and advancing towards Minho.

The smell of burnt ozone fills the room, and the electrical sound of the Launcher crackles to life. Then Newt squeezes the trigger. A grenade smashes into Greasy Hair’s chest, and lightning tendrils envelop his body as he falls screaming to the ground, writhing, legs rigid, drool foaming out of his mouth.

Thomas winces, remembering how much the Launcher had hurt when he’d gotten hit.

“I told him to stop,” Newt half whispers, and Thomas looks at him with wide eyes. He’s turned his weapon to aim at Minho, and the Launcher is shaking because his arms are. “Now you guys leave. No more discussion. I’m sorry.”

Minho holds up his hands. “You gonna shoot me? Old pal?”

“Go,” he tells them. “I asked nicely before. Now I’m telling. This is hard enough. Go.”

“Newt…” Chuck says, voice sounding watery. “Don’t make us do this.”

Newt shakes his head, pointedly not looking over at Chuck. “It has to be this way. No changing it now. Now _leave!_ ”

“Let’s just go outside,” Thomas placates. “Talk out there.”

“No, Tommy!” Newt yells ferociously. “ _Leave!_ Get out of here!”

Thomas hates what he’s seeing – the complete wildness that had taken over Newt. His whole body trembles and his eyes have lost any hint of sanity. He’s losing it. Completely.

“Fine,” Thomas says, and it breaks his heart to say so. He doesn’t want to leave Newt here, but Newt’s left them no choice. “Come on, guys. Let’s go.”

Minho’s gaze snaps to Thomas, and he looks like his heart has been shattered. “You can’t be serious.”

Tears well up in Thomas’ eyes, his throat going tight. He can only nod.

Minho’s shoulders slump, eyes falling to the floor. “How did the world get so shucked?” The words were barely audible, low and full of pain.

“I’m sorry,” Newt says, and tears are freely streaming down his face. “I’m… I’m going to shoot if you don’t go. _Leave now!_ ”

They have no choice but to follow Newt’s orders. Thomas takes Minho’s limp hand, getting Chuck by the arm and dragging them out. Neither resist, and Thomas doesn’t dare look at either of them, hoping that Brenda and Jorge are following behind.

He keeps going. Away from the crazy Cranks. Away from Newt. Away from their friend and his diseased brain.

~||~

Thomas, Minho, and Chuck sit together in the common room. Brenda and Jorge have made themselves scarce in the cockpit, allowing them space to grieve their friend.

Chuck sits in the middle of one couch, staring at the wall opposite him, unseeing. He keeps on bunching up one of the blankets, folding it, then messing it up again. Thomas almost wants to tell him to cut it out, but he knows that Chuck likes to fidget when he’s thinking something through.

Thomas and Minho sit on the other couch. Thomas is cross legged, back against the arm of the couch, elbows resting on his knees with his head in his hands. The top of his head leans into Minho, who’s been sitting still as a statue ever since his butt touched the cushion.

Finally, Minho speaks, his voice lifeless. “Why did he do that? Why wouldn’t he come back with us? Why would he point that weapon at my face?”

Thomas stays silent, focusing on breathing and forcing back the impending tears.

“He wouldn’t have pulled the trigger,” Chuck says distantly. There’s the rustle of the blanket, and Thomas thinks he’s back to folding it now.

“No, you guys saw the look in his eyes. Complete lunacy. I’d be fried if I kept pushing. He’s crazy, man. Gone wacker from top to bottom.”

Thomas wishes Minho would shut up. Just let them grieve in silence. He doesn’t want to hear this.

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” Chuck says quietly.

“Come again?” Minho asks as he turns to Chuck. He dislodges Thomas’ head where he’s been resting it on his shoulder, so Thomas leans back on the arm of the couch, crossing his arms.

“Maybe when their minds go, they’re not themselves anymore. Maybe the Newt we know and love is gone, and he’s not aware of what’s happening to him. So really, he’s not suffering.”

Minho almost looks offended by the notion. “Nice try, slinthead, but I don’t believe it. I think he’ll always be there – just enough to be screaming on the inside, deranged and suffering through every shuck second of it. Tormented like he’s been buried alive.”

Chuck screws up his face, and tears start to fall down his ruddy cheeks. “You’re such a goddamn shank,” Chuck says, choked up but forceful. “Stop acting like you were the only one who knew him – we’re all hurting right now.”

Minho sighs, pulling his knees into his chest and holding them close. “Sorry, Chuck. It’s just… nothing anyone says is going to make what we just did okay.”

“He _wanted_ to be left there,” Thomas finally says.

“So?” Minho asks, looking over at Thomas. “He should’ve wanted to be with us in his final moments, not hanging around those psycho Cranks.”

“No, Minho,” Thomas says. “He made his decision. And honestly, he made a good point. If I wasn’t immune, I wouldn’t want either of you to watch me turn into a Crank. Just the thought of it makes my stomach hurt.”

“So you’d do what he did, then?” Minho asks, obviously hurt. “Leave a stupid note saying good-bye and think we wouldn’t come after you? Then when we did, you’d aim a Launcher at me and tell me to get lost?”

Thomas closes his eyes, every part of his body hurting. “If I thought it would save you guys from watching me descend into madness, I might.”

“Jesus, Thomas,” Minho breathes. “Serious?”

“All I’m saying is that I see where he’s coming from,” Thomas says. “Would you want _me_ to watch _you_ slowly go crazy? Turn into one of those psycho Cranks you keep yapping about?”

Minho turns away, glaring at the floor.

“He’s gone,” Thomas says, the words final.

Chuck looks up at Thomas, eyes full of sorrow. “Doesn’t mean we have to like it.”

The words take Thomas aback. They’re so similar to the conversation that Thomas had with Teresa in that memory-dream he had while he was out during the operation.

Teresa was trying to make him feel better after they’d had to murder all those people after the Flare outbreak, and Thomas had said _Doesn’t mean I have to like it_.

Maybe he sees where Teresa had been coming from, all those years ago. Just trying to make the best of a crappy situation.

The three boys lapse into silence. Thomas stares at the same spot on the floor, feeling the full dread of Newt’s fate, until the Berg lands with a thump back at Denver airport.

Thomas rubs his face with both hands. “I guess we’re here.”

“I think I understand WICKED a little more now,” Minho says absently, his eyes still glazed over as he stares at the wall. “After seeing those eyes up close. Seeing the madness. It’s not the same when it’s someone you’ve known for so long. We’ve watched plenty of friends die, but I can’t imagine anything worse. The Flare, man. If we could find a cure for that…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to – Thomas knows what he’s thinking. Janson’s offer springs up again in the back of his mind, his assertion that Thomas is the key to everything. But nothing about this is black and white. It never will be.

Jorge and Brenda join them a moment later. Jorge stays standing, but Brenda sinks into the couch next to Chuck, and he lets her take one of his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs to them all.

Minho grunts something, and Thomas nods, still not looking up from the floor.

Jorge clears his throat. “I know this is hard, _muchachos._ But we need to figure out what to do next.”

Minho gets to his feet in a flash, pointing a finger into Jorge’s chest. “You think about whatever shuck thing you want, slinthead. But we just left our friend with a bunch of psychos.” Then he turns and storms out of the room.

Thomas is tempted to follow him, but neither him nor Chuck have the energy to get up.

Jorge’s eyes fall on Thomas. “Sorry.”

Thomas waves the apology away.

Jorge claps a hand to Thomas’ shoulder. “I think we’re all a little spent. Maybe we should take a couple days and rest. Think it all through.”

“Yeah,” Thomas murmurs. “That sounds good.”

Brenda squeezes Chuck’s hand. “We’ll figure something out.”

Chuck looks up at Brenda. His eyes are still wet, the blanket is pushed to the side. “I hope you’re right.”

~||~

They eat a dreadful meal where no one speaks more than a couple of meaningless words at a time, then the five of them go their separate ways. Thomas almost follows Minho into the common room, but Minho holds up a hand, giving him a look that says, _I need to be alone for a while,_ and disappears further into the Berg _._

Back in the Glade, whenever Minho gave him that look, Thomas would go into the forest, to his favourite spot, tucked away in the corner between massive stone walls. Sometimes he’d fall asleep in the vines, and Minho would come to find him when his funk had passed.

Thomas doesn’t think that this funk is something that’s going to pass anytime soon. They’d left Newt for dead.

He can’t stop thinking about it as he wanders the Berg. His heart sinks lower the longer he thinks about the time that Newt has left, that the time is going to be spent with a whole bunch of murderous strangers.

He looks over to the couch where Newt had left his note. 

Wait a minute.

_The note._

Through everything, Thomas forgot about the _damn note._

Thomas stands dazed for a moment, then runs to the bathroom and locks the door. Newt had said that Thomas would know when the time had come to read it. Thomas should’ve twigged the moment they realized the Berg was empty. He should have read it before they even stepped foot in the Crank Palace.

He pulls the envelope out of his pocket and rips it open, then takes out the slip of paper. In what is obviously Newt’s handwriting, it’s only three short sentences:

_Don’t come after me. Trust me. We’ll be reunited again soon._

Thomas reads the words over and over. The note had definitely been meant to be opened before they had left for the Crank Palace, then.

But Newt had given him this note _ages_ ago. Before he even knew they were going to Denver, before he even knew what a Crank Palace _was_. Thomas is so confused. Had the Flare been so rampant in Newt even before they had escaped WICKED that he just wrote down nonsense?

Thomas unlocks the bathroom door, heading down the hallway and into the room he knows that Minho is hiding out in.

Before Minho can say anything, Thomas says, “I know you don’t want company, but you need to see this.”

Minho looks up from where he’s curled up on a cot, eyes red. He looks so sad, and Thomas’ heart clenches at seeing Minho this way. “What is it?”

“You need to promise not to get mad at me.”

Minho’s brow furrows. “Depends on what shuck thing you did.”

Thomas sighs. “Remember that time Newt left when we were stocking up on weapons in that depot? Before we escaped WICKED?”

Minho just looks even more confused. “Yeah.”

“He went to get an envelope. He gave it to me and told me not to open it until the time was right. And that I would know when the right time had come.”

Minho’s eyes go wide. “What?”

Thomas just holds out the note, and Minho takes it from his hands with shaking fingers. He watches Minho as he reads Newt’s words, then rereads them, then rereads them again.

“I don’t get it,” Minho says quietly. “What does it mean?”

Thomas shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“He gave this to you before we even _left?_ ” Minho asks in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Thomas confirms.

“What the hell? It sounds like he’s talking about the Crank Palace, but how would he have known about that place before we even left WICKED?”

“I don’t _know,_ Minho.”

“Sorry, I’m just thinking out loud.” Minho shakes his head. “What else could he be talking about though? He must have known, somehow.”

“Remember how he said that thing about going into Denver with the other Cranks? Escaping the Palace? Maybe that’s what he means by being reunited with us.”

Minho scrubs a hand over his face. “Things really _are_ shucked. Get everyone else in here.”

~||~

Chuck doesn’t have any ideas as to what Newt could have meant in his note, and neither do Jorge or Brenda. It just makes the three boys more eager to get back into the city, get to Newt sooner.

But Jorge puts his foot down – telling them that they need to rest and devise a solid plan. Grudgingly, Minho and the others agree.

A couple days pass. They spend their time making plans, deciding what to do. None of them know much about the city or have any solid connections. Their conversations always turn back to Jared and the Right Arm. The Right Arm wants to stop WICKED. And if it’s true that WICKED might start the Trials all over again with new Immunes, then Thomas and his friends have the same goals at the Right Arm.

They have to go back to Jared. And on the way, they’ll scout for Newt. Can’t be too hard.

On the morning of the third day, Thomas showers and then joins the others for a quick meal. Everyone is anxious to get on the move after being cooped up in the Berg for so long, with the knowledge that Newt’s out there, that he had promised that they’d be reunited again.

Once they’re ready, everyone gathers at the hatch door.

“Let me do the talking again,” Jorge says.

Brenda nods. “And once we get in, we’ll get a cab.”

“Fine,” Minho mutters. “Let’s just _go_ already.”

Thomas can’t agree more.

Jorge presses a button on his remote device for the Berg, and the huge ramp of the cargo door starts to pivot downwards. The door has only opened halfway when they see three people standing just outside the door. By the time the bottom edge thumps to the ground, Thomas realizes that they aren’t there with a welcome banner.

Two men. One woman. They wear the same metallic protective masks that Red Shirt had worn in that coffee shop. The men hold a gun each; the lady has a Launcher.

“What is this?” Jorge asks.

“Shut your mouth, Munie,” one of the guys says. “Now you and your friends step down here, nice and slow. Don’t. Try. Anything.”

Chuck nudges Thomas surreptitiously, nodding to the entrance to the city behind their assailants. The gates stand wide open, two bodies laying lifeless in the narrow alley leading to the city. Something’s very wrong.

“You start firing that thing, _hermano_ , and we’ll be on top of you in two seconds flat. You may get one of us, but we’ll get all three of you punks.”

Thomas knows it’s an empty threat.

“We’ve got nothing to lose,” the man replies. He hoists his gun higher, pointing it straight at Jorge’s face. “I’m pretty confident I’ll nail two of you before anybody takes a single step.”

“Fair enough,” Jorge says with a grimace. He holds his hands up, and everyone else follows his lead. “You win for now.”

Thomas knows they have no choice but to go along. They walk down the ramp slowly, and then are herded into an old beat-up van.

“Who’s paying you to herd up Immunes?” Thomas asks as his friends clamber in beside him. He wants confirmation of what Teresa had told Jared – that Immunes are being rounded up and sold to WICKED.

No one answers.

Held at gunpoint, they’re forced to put black hoods over their heads, and then the van is moving, probably right into WICKED’s open arms.

~||~

After a long time of driving, the van finally comes to a stop. They’re told to keep their hoods on until they’re shuffled out of the van and along the pavement, and Thomas hears the swipe of a keycard, the click of a lock, then the creak of a door opening. As it does, the hushed murmurs of voices fill the air, as if dozens of people are waiting inside.

A gun is pushed into Thomas’ back, forcing him into the room. Just as the door closes, Thomas reaches up and yanks the hood off his head.

He and the others stand in a huge room filled with people, most of them sitting on the floor. Dull lights in the ceiling illuminate the few dozen faces that stare back at them. Most of their faces are dirty, some scratched or bruised.

“We’re never going to find Newt if we’re stuck in this shuck place,” Minho grumbles from beside him.

“How are we getting out of this one?” Chuck asks.

“Be patient,” Thomas replies.

A woman steps towards them and asks about what it’s like outside, if things are still as bad as they were. Says that things were falling apart just a few hours ago.

Thomas tells her that they were just outside the city when they got nabbed, and asks what she means by things falling apart.

The woman looks at the floor. “The government declared a state of emergency without any kind of warning. Then the police, the cop machines, the Flare testers – they all disappeared. All at once, it seemed.”

“We were guards at a Crank Palace,” another guy says. “Others like us have been disappearing left and right, so we finally gave up and came to Denver a few days ago. We got taken from the airport, too.”

“How’d everything get so bad so suddenly?” Brenda asks. “We were here three days ago.”

Another man lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “The whole city is full of idiots thinking they’re containing the virus. It’s been a long and slow rumble, but it’s all finally exploded in our faces. The world has no chance – the virus is too strong. Some of us have seen this coming for a long time.”

Thomas’ gaze wanders over to another group of people approaching. He freezes when he sees Aris.

“Minho, look,” Thomas says, nudging him and pointing.

Aris has already spotted them and broken out into a grin, heading over to their group. Behind him, Thomas can see a couple of girls that he recognizes from Group B.

When Aris reaches them, he stands in front of Thomas like he’s about to give him a hug, then holds out a hand instead. Thomas shakes it.

“Glad you guys are okay,” Aris says.

“You too,” Thomas says, and he finds that he means it. After all that’s happened, he just can’t harbour any hate in his heart for Aris anymore. “Where is everyone?”

Aris’ face darkens. “Most of them aren’t with us anymore. Got taken by another group.”

Before Thomas can process what he just said, Teresa appears at Aris’ side. He wasn’t expecting her presence so suddenly – he doesn’t know what to feel.

“Hey, Tom,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes moisten with tears. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah, you too.” Part of him still hates her for what she’d done, both in the Scorch, and her attitude before the Maze began. But part of him missed her like a missing limb, and it feels good to have his sister by his side again.

“Where did you guys go?” she asks. “How’d you make it to Denver?”

“What do you mean, where did we go? We escaped WICKED after you.”

“ _What?_ ” Teresa says. She stares at him. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Seems like it.”

Minho leans into Thomas to speak to Teresa. “I can see you’re cheerful as always, in-law. So glad to be back in your sunshiny presence.”

Teresa ignores him completely. “Tom, they’re going to be moving us soon. Please come talk to me. In private.”

“Rat Man already gave me his big speech – don’t tell me you’re still on their side and are trying to convince me to go back there.”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.”

She looks at him, seeming to be battling with her pride. “Please, Tom.”

Thomas sighs. He points to a couple of empty chairs across the room. “Let’s go, but make it quick.”

~||~

Thomas sits with his head against the wall, arms folded. Teresa has her legs tucked up underneath her, sitting so that she faces him. Minho had warned him not to listen to a word she said as they’d walked away.

“So,” Teresa says.

“So.”

“Where do we start?”

“Hmm,” Thomas says, pretending to think. “How about we start where you _left us behind at WICKED._ ”

“Tom!” she exclaims, looking like she’s been slapped. “We did _not_ leave you behind! What are you talking about?”

“What are _you_ talking about?” Thomas asks, thoroughly confused. “We went back to look for you guys and found all the guards you tied up, a missing Berg, and Jorge knocked out! You look me in the eye and you tell me that you _didn’t_ leave us behind.”

Teresa’s face has paled considerably, her mouth opening and closing like she doesn’t know what to say. “But… we came after _you._ We were told that _you_ left _us._ ”

“What?”

“All anyone in that complex could talk about was how you, Newt, Chuck, and Minho had all broken out and were in the surrounding forest somewhere!” Teresa says. “We looked, but didn’t see any sign of you. I’ve been hoping this entire time that you somehow made it to civilization. Why do you think I was so happy to see you?”

Thomas studies the floor, wondering if he can trust her on this.

“So you don’t know anything about a Final Candidate?” he asks.

“No, nothing,” Teresa replies, shaking her head. “All that stuff was developed after I went into the Maze, so I have no memories about it. I wish you had your memories back, Tom. Then you’d be able to see that I’m still the same Teresa you’ve always known. That you need to trust me when I tell you this.”

“Tell me what?”

“WICKED isn’t planning on stopping their Trials until they get a blueprint,” Teresa says. “They’re preparing to start another round, Tom. WICKED is gathering more Immunes to begin testing if the Trials don’t work. And I can’t do it again. I left to find you. That’s it.”

Thomas wants to believe her. He really does.

“I’m so sorry,” Teresa says through a sigh. “I did what I did in the Scorch to save you, and I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since. All I can tell you is that I’m torn up inside. Ripped apart. I did believe that a cure could happen, and I knew they needed you to do it. But it’s different now. Even with my memories back, I can’t think the same way I did before. I can see now that things will never end.”

Thomas remembers Minho talking about Teresa not too long ago, his scoff as he said _She couldn’t tell that WICKED was evil when they willingly murdered teenagers for fun?_ Thomas knows that Minho _does_ have a point. But Teresa was just doing what she thought was right.

Oh, Thomas doesn’t know. Nothing’s ever going to be clear cut when it comes to WICKED.

“I made a deal with myself,” Teresa continues. “To do whatever it took to make up for my mistakes. I wanted to save my friends first, then the Immunes, if possible.” She looks over at the small group of teenagers that have huddled around Minho and Chuck. Their numbers have dwindled to less than half. “And look at what a great job I did.”

Thomas lets out a huff of laughter, the sound bitter and devoid of humour. “Well, we haven’t done much better, have we?”

The loss of Newt still sits heavy on his heart, despite the optimistic note Newt had left in Thomas’ care. He’d begun to lose hope that the words had meant anything. Newt had already been showing signs of the Flare when they were escaping, and maybe the words were just complete nonsense.

“You were hoping to stop WICKED?” Teresa asks, looking surprised.

Thomas looks at her like she’s being stupid. “Of course. But we’re about to be sold back to them, so what does it matter?”

Teresa sighs, not responding right away. For a brief moment, Thomas wishes he could access the past for just a moment, remember what Teresa had been like before, if she’s really telling the truth. They’d been together since birth, and while he’s been getting patchy memories here and there, it still only feels like he’s known Teresa for a couple of months. He doesn’t really _know_ herthe way a brother should.

Finally, she says, “If somehow we _could_ do something, I hope that you’ll find a way to trust me again. I know I can convince Aris and the others to help us. They feel the same way I do.”

A voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Minho is telling him to be careful, that it’s strange that she’s only agreed with him about WICKED now she’s got her memories back.

“We’ll see what happens,” he says.

Teresa frowns deeply. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

Thomas doesn’t have a good answer for that, so he just stands from his chair and repeats, “We’ll see what happens.”

~||~

Thomas finds Minho and Chuck sitting on the floor with Jorge and Brenda when he returns. Minho gives him a nasty look and asks, “So what did that shuck traitor have to say?”

Thomas sits down beside him. Several strangers have gathered closer, and he can tell they’re listening in.

“She said that the reason they escaped was because they were told we had already escaped into the surrounding forest, and she swears they looked for us. She also confirmed that WICKED plans to start all over again if they have to with new Immunes, just like Jared told us.” He looks over to Minho, knowing he won’t like this last bit. “She says that she’ll help us if she can.”

Minho just shakes his head. “You’re a slinthead. You never should have talked to her.”

“Thanks, babe.” Thomas rubs his face. Minho’s right.

“Hate to barge in here, _muchachos_ ,” Jorge interjects. “But none of this will matter diddly squat unless we can get out of this nice accommodation we’ve found ourselves in.”

Just then, the door to the room opens, and three of the people who had captured them walk in, each holding a huge sack filled to the brim. A fourth follows them, armed with a Launcher and a pistol. He sweeps the room, looking for trouble, and the others start dispersing the items from their sacks – bread and bottles of water.

“How do we always get into these messes?” Chuck asks. “At least before we could blame it all on WICKED.”

“We still can,” Thomas murmurs.

Chuck grins. “Good. Those shuckfaces.”

Minho nudges Thomas with his elbow. “Only one of them has a weapon,” he whispers, leaning close. “He doesn’t look so bad. I bet I can take him.”

“Maybe,” Thomas answers under his breath. “But don’t do anything stupid – he’s got a gun _and_ a Launcher, and neither of them are fun to be shot with. Trust me.”

“Trust _me_ ,” Minho says with a wink. Thomas can only sigh. The odds are not good that what is about to happen will go unnoticed. He wishes Minho had some modicum of stealth when it comes to taking bad guys down.

The kidnappers approach their group, holding out some bread and a bottle of water. Thomas takes a dinner roll and a bottle, but Minho slaps the guy’s hand away.

The guy just shrugs. “You wanna go hungry, fine by me.” Then he moves on.

He’s nearly passed them when Minho tackles the man holding the Launcher to the ground. Thomas flinches as the Launcher drops to the concrete and discharges, sending a grenade shooting into the ceiling. Some people around them scream, the lightning crackling above them. The kidnapper is still on the ground, and Minho starts punching him. Chuck moves faster than Thomas can, and disarms the man of his pistol, immediately passing the weapon to Thomas.

Thomas gives Chuck a look that says, _Why’d you give me this?_

Chuck just shrugs and gives him a look that says, _I don’t want to hold a deadly weapon in my hands. I’m just an innocent fifteen-year-old._

Maybe Thomas adlibbed that, just a tad.

The other three captors that are handing out supplies come rushing to their fallen friend, but the people who have been sitting around easily step in and throw them to the ground. Thomas sees that Brenda has grabbed the Launcher, holding it in steady hands.

Jorge helps Minho drag the guard near the others until they’re all lined up next to each other, on their backs on the floor. Thomas sees the guy’s face as he passes – it’s almost unrecognizable through all the blood.

Thomas stands as the fight is all but over. “We need to get information,” Thomas says. “And we need to hurry in case backup comes.”

Minho sweeps a hand, grinning happily. “They’re all yours.”

“Just shoot them in the head!” some guy in the back jeers, and others shout in agreement. “Shoot them and we can get out of here!”

Thomas looks at the surrounding people, realizing the crowd has turned into a mob. If he wants answers, he needs to work fast before things fall apart.

He presses the butt of the gun to the guy’s temple. “I’m going to count to three. You either start telling us WICKED’s plans for us and where you’re going to meet them, or I’ll pull the trigger. One.”

The man doesn’t hesitate. “WICKED? We got nothing to do with WICKED.”

“You’re lying. Two.”

“No!” the man insists. “I swear I’m not! This has nothing to do with them, at least as far as I know.”

“Oh really? Then why are you out kidnapping a bunch of Immunes?”

The man’s eyes flicker to his friends, but they don’t give anything away. He turns back to Thomas. “We work for the Right Arm.”

~||~

Thomas narrows his eyes, lowering his weapon and sitting back. “If you work for the Right Arm, why are you out capturing Immunes? That’s WICKED’s schtick.”

“Because we want to,” the man says, eyeing the lowered weapon. “You don’t have any business knowing anything more.”

“Just shoot him and move on to the next one,” someone calls from behind Thomas.

Thomas leans back in, pressing the gun back into the guy’s temple. “You’re awfully brave considering I’m the one with the gun. I’ll count to three one more time. Tell me why the Right Arm would want Immunes or I’ll just have to assume you’re lying. One.”

“You know I ain’t lyin’, kid.”

“Two.”

“You ain’t gonna kill me. I can see it in your eyes.”

The man has called Thomas’ bluff. There’s no way Thomas is going to shoot some stranger in the head. But he doesn’t know what Thomas has in his back pocket. “You’re right,” Thomas tells him. “But you know who’s in a bad mood and would love to pick a fight?” Thomas flips the pistol in his hand so he’s gripping the barrel of the gun, holding the handle out to his side.

Minho takes the gun, smirking at Thomas. “I thought you’d never ask.” He leans in closer, whispering in his ear, “You acting all authoritative has got me all hot and bothered over here.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, stepping back and letting Minho get into the other man’s space.

“If you work for the Right Arm, we’re supposed to be on the same side,” Thomas says, looking over Minho’s shoulder. “Just tell us what’s going on.”

The guy sits up slowly, along with his three friends.

“If you want answers,” one says, “then you’ll have to ask the boss. We seriously don’t know anything.”

“Yeah,” another agrees. “We’re nobodies.”

“Then how do we get to this boss of yours?” Brenda steps forward, pointing the Launcher at the man’s face.

The man shrugs. “I have no clue.”

“I’ve had enough of this klunk.” Minho points the gun at the man’s foot. “We might not kill any of you, but your toe’s gonna be smarting something real awful in three seconds if you don’t start talking.”

“I’m tellin’ you,” the guy says, face pinched in anger. “We don’t know nothin’.”

“Fine,” Minho replies. He fires the gun.

Even though Thomas gave Minho the pistol, he’s still somewhat shocked that Minho actually fires the damn thing. He watches as the man grabs his foot, wailing in agony. Minho shot him in the pinky toe, and part of the shoe and the toe itself are completely gone, replaced by a bleeding wound.

“How could you do that?” the guard next to him on the ground yells. She moves up onto her knees and pulls a wad of napkins from her pocket, pressing them to the man’s bleeding foot.

“While she’s working on that poor foot of his, somebody better start talking, or toes are going to be gone left, right, and center.” Minho waves the gun at the guy with the bloody face and his friend next to him. “Why are you people kidnapping people for the Right Arm?”

“We told you, we don’t know anything,” the woman replies. “They pay us, and we do what they ask.”

“And you?” Minho points the gun more firmly at the man without the blood on his face. “Wanna say something? Save a toe or two?”

“Look, I swear I don’t know anything, but…” he cuts off, glancing over to his friends.

“But what!” Minho yells.

“Nothing.”

“Are we seriously still playing this game?” Minho crouches down, pressing the gun directly to the man’s foot. “Talk, or I’ll shoot. I’m done with this counting business.”

“Stop!” the man shouts. “Okay, listen. We could take a couple of you back with us to ask them yourselves. I don’t know if they’ll let you talk to the man in charge, but they might. I’m not gonna lose a toe for no good reason.”

“Well, alright then.” Minho steps back, gesturing with the gun for the man to stand up. “See, that wasn’t so bad. Let’s go visit this boss of yours. Me, you, and my friends.”

The room erupts into chaos, voices shouting over one another. No one wants to be left behind and no one wants to be quiet about it.

The woman who had been pressing the napkins to the man’s foot stands up and starts yelling. Everyone goes quiet. “You all are a lot safer here! If all of us tried to get to where we’d need to go, I guarantee that half of us wouldn’t make it. Cranks have overtaken the city, and this warehouse has no windows and a locked door. If these guys want to risk their necks, let them. But we’re better off staying here.”

Choruses of complaints echo throughout the room, and Minho raises his gun and shoots the ceiling. The crowd collapses into complete silence.

The woman turns directly to Minho and Thomas. “If you guys are really determined to go, I’d only recommend taking one or two people. The more you have, the more likely you’ll be seen. This morning, the police were overpowered by Cranks and the gates were opened. Some more Cranks from the Palace joined them. They’re everywhere now.”

“Brenda and I will go,” Thomas says without thinking about it.

“What?” Minho looks at him, eyes hurt. “No way. Me and you.”

As much as Thomas hates to admit it, Minho is too bloodthirsty, his temper too short. Thomas is slightly worried that he’ll shoot first and ask questions later. He doesn’t want to let Minho out of his sight, but Brenda is stealthier and can help him get information. What Jorge said back in the Scorch about her being smart, about needing her brain, Thomas understands that now. She’ll ask questions that Thomas or Minho wouldn’t even think of.

Thomas shakes his head. “Me and her. We’ll be okay, Minho.”

“No way!” Minho says. “Thomas, are you crazy? We shouldn’t split up – all five of us should go.”

“You heard the lady, Minho. The fewer of us that go, the better.”

“Don’t be a slinthead.”

“Plus, we need someone back here to watch over things,” Thomas says, and he means it. This is a whole roomful of people who might be able to help them take down WICKED. “I hate to say it, but what if something _does_ happen to us? You need to stay behind and make sure our plans don’t die.”

“That’s the whole point of me going _with you_ , you dumb shank. So nothing happens to you!”

“Minho,” Thomas says, looking at him levelly. “I need you to stay here.”

“And I am respectfully disagreeing with you.”

“They’ve got Frypan, Minho. Who knows who else? You need to trust me.”

“Of course I trust you!” Minho yells. He turns around, hands on his hips, pacing in the small space. “Fine,” he says eventually. He steps forward and jabs a finger into Thomas’ chest. “But if you die, I will _not_ be happy.”

~||~

As the man from earlier – his name is Lawrence – gets ready to go, Minho draws Thomas into an empty corner of the room, away from prying eyes.

“Why are you doing this? We should be going together.”

Thomas puts his palms to Minho’s cheeks, tipping their foreheads together. The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks that Minho might be right. But he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it.

“I love you. I’m going to be fine.”

“I love you too, even if you are a dumb shank,” Minho tells him, and then steps impossibly closer, pressing his lips to Thomas’. There’s the sharp glint of teeth and tongue, but then Minho is pulling back and away, and Thomas chases after him. Minho puts a palm on his chest. “If you’re going, you need to go. Before I change my mind and chain you to that radiator over there.”

Thomas leans in and kisses Minho again, perfectly sweet. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He looks over to see Brenda pressing a kiss to Chuck’s cheek, and the spot where her lips touch goes bright pink. Thomas smiles.

“Chuck,” he calls.

Chuck looks over to Thomas, still gripping Brenda’s hand tight, like he never wants to let go. “Yeah?”

Thomas nods his head to Minho. “Keep this one sane, will you?”

Chuck half-grins. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask for.”

Thomas turns back to Minho, helpless to lean in for one last kiss. It’s soft and sweet, and Thomas savours the moment. Finally, he pulls back, stepping away. “See you soon.”

~||~

Lawrence leads Brenda and Thomas to the van, each of them holding up a weapon in case of impending Cranks.

It’s dark out by now, and streetlights shine down onto the pavement. Thomas wonders how long the electricity will last in a town that’s about to die.

Once they’re settled, Lawrence tells them that the drive won’t take too long, but that Cranks will definitely spot them, and to stay vigilant.

It’s a lot of twists and turns, and eventually, Lawrence turns off the headlights and puts his foot to the metal, zooming through the streets.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Brenda asks from the backseat.

“You want to get to the Right Arm’s headquarters without getting mauled by Cranks?” Lawrence replies. “Then we need to get there sooner rather than later.”

Not even a moment later, they hit something. The seatbelt across Thomas’ chest just barely stops him from crashing straight through the windshield as Lawrence slams on the brakes.

The crunching beneath them had sounded metallic – not a Crank, then.

“What was that?” Brenda asks.

“I… I don’t know. Probably a trash can or something.” Lawrence puts the van in reverse, backing up a few feet, before rocking back into drive. There’s a lurching crunch and then silence. “Okay, I think I dislodged it.”

“Can you put the headlights back on?” Thomas asks. “I hate not being able to see anything around us. I feel like a fish in a fishbowl.”

“Plus, I’m sure the Cranks can hear us anyway,” Brenda adds. “This clunker of a van isn’t exactly _subtle._ ”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Lawrence says. He presses a button on the console and the asphalt lights up in front of them.

A bloom of horror rises up in Thomas’ chest. About twenty feet in front of them, at least thirty people have emerged and now stand packed together, completely blocking the road.

Their faces are pale and haggard, scratched and bruised. Ripped, filthy clothes hang from their bodies. They stand there, every single one of them staring into the bright lights as if they aren’t fazed in the least. They’re like standing corpses, raised from the dead.

It feels like a layer of ice has covered his entire body, and Thomas shivers.

The crowd starts to part. They move in sync, and a large space clears in the middle as they back towards the alley. Then one of the Cranks waves an arm, gesturing that the van should go ahead and drive past.

“Those are some awfully polite Cranks,” Lawrence whispers.

~||~

“Maybe they aren’t past the Gone yet,” Thomas says, even though the words sound stupid to even his own ears. “Or they don’t feel like getting run over by a huge van.”

“Well, gun it,” Brenda says. “Before they change their mind.”

To Thomas’ relief, Lawrence does just that. The van shoots forward and he doesn’t slow down.

The Cranks stare at them as they drive past – they’re just nearing the end of the group when a series of pops sound and the van jolts, swerving to the right. Its front end slams into the wall of the alley, pinning two Cranks against it. Thomas stares in horror through the windshield as they scream in agony, beating their bloody fists against the hood of the vehicle.

“What the hell!” Lawrence bellows as he puts the van in reverse.

They screech backwards several feet, the vehicle shaking horribly. The two Cranks they had pinned fall to the ground, but they’re immediately replaced by Cranks on all sides of them, thumping with their fists on the van. At the same time, the tires spin and squeal, unable to gain traction.

“What happened?” Brenda yells.

“They did something to the tires! Or the axels. I don’t know!”

Lawrence keeps switching the van from reverse to drive, but each time, they only move a few feet in either direction. A lady with wild hair approaches the window on Brenda’s right. They watch as she raises a shovel over her head and then swings it down against the window. The glass doesn’t give.

“We really need to get out of here!” Thomas shouts, like none of them don’t know that already.

Lawrence keeps shifting and gassing the van, but they’re merely jerking back and forth. There are a series of thumps from the roof – someone’s up there. Cranks start attacking all the windows on all sides. The lady with the shovel hasn’t given up, and by her fifth or sixth swing, a hairline crack shoots across the window.

“She’s going to smash it!” Thomas yells, overlapping with Brenda’s, “Get us out of here!”

Lawrence is trying his best to get the car moving again, but when the woman hits the window again, the glass goes spraying inwards. Brenda shouts, unbuckling her seat belt and scrabbling to the other side of the van.

“Shuck it,” Thomas whispers. He turns and climbs into the backseat with Brenda, grabbing the reloaded gun that Minho had given back to him from the waistband of his jeans. The woman has dropped the shovel and presses her face into the hole she’s made.

“Hello,” she says creepily.

“Good-bye,” Thomas replies. He fires the gun, straight into her temple, and she falls out of view.

“Holy crap,” Brenda breathes. “It’s like the tunnels all over again. Do you want the Launcher?” Brenda asks.

“No, not from inside the van, it’s too big. Find something else.”

Brenda wiggles over the seat and is rummaging in the back of the van for anything that can be used as a weapon. She comes up with an ice pick and a couple more guns. A quick check shows that they both only have a few bullets left in the clip.

“We won’t be able to fend them off for long,” Brenda says, but holds out one of the pistols to Thomas, giving the other to Lawrence. She keeps the ice pick for herself.

A Crank has climbed onto the hood of the van, a sledgehammer in his hands. With both hands on the handle, he raises it above his head and swings it down. The windshield cracks, a huge spider web blossoming like a white flower in the glass.

“Goddammit! I can’t see anything!” Lawrence yells. “But I think I almost got it! I have no idea what they did.”

The car keeps on rocking back and forth, Brenda stabbing at any arms that poke through the hole and Thomas shooting at anything that makes their way too close to the van.

An arm shoots through the open window, skin pierced by the jagged glass, a huge knife in their grip. Brenda can’t get anywhere near it without getting a finger sliced off, so Thomas aims the gun, ready to shoot.

In the end, he doesn’t have to. Something that sounds exactly like a Launcher fires from outside, three shots lighting up the dark. Thomas can’t see who shot it, but the woman with the slashing knife screams. Her arm lights up in a flash of electricity, and she drops the knife into the van, her hand spasming and disappearing out of the window. 

A few more shots go off, and a grenade hits the man bashing in the windshield. The sledgehammer falls from his grip with a _thunk_ , and he stumbles off the hood of their van, body convulsing.

Everything outside the van is quiet and still. No more Cranks try to bash in their windshield or claw through the window. But whoever shot that Launcher still isn’t making themselves known. 

Thomas is about to shout to Lawrence to start driving when a flash of movement catches his eye, and he raises his gun to the hole in the window, arm steady.

The last thing Thomas expects is for Newt’s face to pop into view, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Hiya, Tommy,” he says. “Brenda.”

Then he reaches an arm through the window, unlocks the door, and climbs into the van.

~||~

Thomas is speechless. 

“What– How–”

“No time to explain,” Newt says. 

The thing is, he looks completely fine. His eyes aren’t wide and crazed, his voice is even. He looks exactly like the Newt he used to know. 

“But–”

“Why is there a Crank in the car!” Lawrence yells. His hands scrabble for his gun where it’s fallen underneath the passenger seat throughout all the commotion. 

“Calm down, Lawrence,” Newt says, and Lawrence does a double take when Newt says his name, his hand freezing in the search for his weapon. “I’m not a Crank. I’m immune.”

“Okay, hold on,” Brenda says. “What the actual hell is going on right now?”

“There’s no time to explain!” Newt repeats. “Lawrence, you need to get us to the Right Arm.”

“You shot everyone out there with that Launcher of yours,” Brenda retorts. “I think there’s a little time.”

Newt sighs, pushing a hand into his hair. Thomas can’t get over how sane he looks. Like he’s never had that wild psycho glint in his eyes ever before in his life, even though it was only a few days ago when they saw Newt in the Crank Palace, clutching that Launcher like his life depended on it. Is this just a moment of clarity before he turns on them all?

“Fine.” Newt turns to Thomas. “You read my note, right?”

“Yeah,” Thomas says dazedly. 

“Then why’d you come to the Crank Palace, you bloody idiot!” Newt cuffs him on the back of his head. “I told you not to!”

“I didn’t open it until we got back,” Thomas answers, suddenly on the defensive. “You said when the time was right! That’s not exactly clear instructions, Newt! We saw that you were gone and _immediately_ went to go get you.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “Let me guess. Minho.”

“ _Yeah_ , Newt. Your _best friend_ Minho. Who _you_ made leave you behind in that shuck place! We practically had a funeral for you when we got back on the Berg. You better start answering our buggin’ questions. What’s this klunk about you being immune?”

“Because I _am_ immune,” Newt says, looking straight into Thomas’ eyes. “Always have been.”

~||~

“What?” Brenda asks, completely astonished. “That’s… That’s not possible.”

“Well, I’ve been hanging out with Cranks for three days now, and I feel fine, so she must’ve been telling the truth.”

“She?” Thomas echoes. 

“Just listen to me,” Newt says. “Remember those twenty-six days where you were isolated in that white room?”

“Of course I do,” Thomas replies, and he can’t hide the slight edge in his tone.

“Don’t get all wise guy on me, Tommy. Slim it and listen. Some woman came into my room on the tenth day, saying some klunk about her being Chancellor Paige, a big head honcho at WICKED. She told me that I’d been mislabelled as not immune from the very start of the Maze, that I’d been looked over because of that status. Long story short, she thought my brain patterns were very interesting and decided to dig deeper; eventually she found out about the misdiagnosis. She sat me down and told me about everything that was going to happen after Phase Three was over – Rat Man reading out that shuck list, you going crazy about me not being immune, our group not wanting our memories back, all of it. Then she told me about what was going to happen after – that I was going to act like I really did have the Flare, so as not to arouse suspicions in Rat Man. She made it very clear that I had to pretend around you guys too. She explained to me how we were going to break out, how we were going to go to Denver, how I was going to be taken to the Crank Palace. She anticipated you guys coming to get me, so she told me to leave you a note. Everything to lead up to this moment right now. She even told me you’d be in this van with Brenda – that’s what made me the most skeptical. Where’s Minho?”

He finishes it at that. _Where’s Minho?_ like it’s any other day. Like he hasn’t just dropped a huge bomb on them. 

Brenda and Thomas just stare at Newt, and Newt looks back. 

“Minho’s okay, right?” Newt asks, worry in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine,” Thomas answers automatically. “But…” Thomas furrows his brow. “Why? Why did she tell you to do all that?”

“She needed me to be a plant in the Crank Palace, to get them to take over the city.”

“What?” Thomas asks, still extremely confused. “Serious?”

“Look, I don’t know all the details. I kinda stopped listening to her bloody speech by the end of it. But the gist of it was that this was a way to take down WICKED for good, that she’d teamed up with the Right Arm. I didn’t know what any of it meant at the time – I swore to myself that I wasn’t going to do what she wanted, that it was a Trial concocted by WICKED, and I’d practically forgotten about it by the time I was reunited with you all at the end of the month.”

“So what changed your mind?” Lawrence asks. 

Thomas looks over in surprise at their driver. 

Lawrence just shrugs. “I’m invested now. Wish I had popcorn.”

“When Rat Man read out that list, and said that I wasn’t immune, I thought about Paige, but I just assumed she’d been lying, that it really had been all part of the Trial. But then Chuck said that thing about not trusting anyone but Brenda and Chancellor Paige, and all that klunk you said about breaking out being part of the Trial… and I started to change my mind. When I thought about it, everything she’d said would happen had happened. So I knew I had to follow along. I’d already been mad at everything they’d done during Phase Three, so I just had to amp it up a bit. And everything turned out exactly as she said it would.”

“So you’re… fine. Not a Crank,” Thomas says. He doesn’t know how Newt _could_ be a Crank after that long explanation – he’d been calm and level-headed the entire time, no hint of insanity in his eyes.

“Not a Crank,” Newt confirms.

“Jesus,” Thomas breathes, scrubbing his hands over his face. “You’ve been acting this _entire_ time?”

Newt looks apologetic at this. “I had to make it so you’d believe that I had been taken to the Crank Palace, that I was that far gone already. You weren’t supposed to come get me – but I had to stay there long enough until they’d all broken into Denver, taken over the city. Which is why you saw me like that in that bloody bowling alley. I needed you to leave me there. Needed you to think I was almost past the Gone.”

Thomas almost can’t believe it. It’s like Teresa and Brenda all over again. 

Newt continues on, unaware of Thomas’ inner turmoil. “It helped a lot, actually. The Cranks there trusted me even more after you left. It was easy to convince the rest of them to break out of there.”

“Chancellor _Paige_ told you to do all that?” Brenda asks.

“Yup,” Newt says. “Apparently she’s against what WICKED has become in recent years, has been secretly funding the Right Arm for a while now. She wanted the Cranks to take over to spur the Right Arm into action.”

Thomas just stares at Newt. He doesn’t know what to say. On one hand, he wants to be angry that he’s been lied to, _again_ , by one of his very best friends. But he’s also just overwhelmingly grateful that Newt isn’t actually infected, that he’s not going to die a terrible, gruesome death. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Newt,” Thomas says, almost getting choked up. He pulls Newt into a huge bear hug. 

“Me too, Tommy. Me too.”

~||~

Finally, they make it to the Right Arm.

Thomas, Newt, and Brenda are taken to the boss, a huge man who’s more fat than muscle, his girth barely contained between the arms of the white plastic chair he sits in. Jared sits right next to him.

“Is that the shank that came back from the dead?” Newt whispers to Thomas.

“What, Paige didn’t tell you about him?”

Newt shakes his head.

“I’ll catch you up later,” Thomas promises.

“Well, you’ve found me,” the boss says. “I’m Vince. What do you people want?”

“We want to know why you captured us,” Thomas answers immediately. “Why you’re kidnapping people for WICKED. We thought the Right Arm was _against_ WICKED.”

“Jared,” Vince says in response, as if he hadn’t heard a word that came out of Thomas’ mouth.

“Yeah?”

“You trust these people?”

Jared smiles at Thomas. “Yeah,” he says. “We can.”

Vince leans forward, resting his massive arms on the table. “Then we can’t waste any time. Boy, this is a look-a-like operation – we’re collecting Immunes to _mimic_ WICKED.”

The response surprises Thomas. “Why in the world would you do something like that?”

“We’re going to use them to get inside their headquarters.”

~||~

Thomas stares at the man for a second. If WICKED really is behind the disappearance of all the Immunes, this plan is so simple he could almost laugh.

“That just might work,” Thomas says.

“I’m glad you approve,” Vince replies. His expression remains unreadable, and Thomas doesn’t know if he’s being sarcastic or not. “We’ve got a contract, and the deal is already arranged to sell them – it’s our way in. We need to _stop_ these people, prevent them from wasting even more resources on a pointless cure. If the world is going to survive, they need to use what they have to help the people left alive.” He leans back in his chair, the entire thing squeaking with the movement. “But I told you a secret, now _you_ repay the trust. We go no further until you share what you know. What can _you_ offer _us?_ ”

Thomas hesitates, thinking hard.

Brenda nudges him. “Tell him. This is what we came for.”

Thomas nods, making his decision. If they’re going to take down WICKED, they’ll need help. Thomas’ gut has told him to trust Jared from the very beginning, and Brenda and Newt have both vouched for Chancellor Paige, who apparently vouches for the Right Arm. It seems like they need to team up.

“Okay,” Thomas begins. “WICKED thinks they can complete the cure, that they’re almost there. The only missing piece is me. They swear it’s the truth, but they’ve manipulated and lied to us so many times that there’s no way to know for sure.”

“How many of you are there?” Vince asks.

“Well, there’s us three,” Thomas says, gesturing to himself and Newt and Brenda, “and five more back at that warehouse.” He’s included Teresa and Aris in the tally, hoping that Teresa had been telling the truth when she said they’d help them. “We don’t have numbers, but we have a lot of inside knowledge. How many do you guys have?”

“At the beginning of the Right Arm… oh, there must have been thousands,” Vince answers, sounding wistful. “But if we’re talking about how many there are left of us, willing to see it through… then there’s probably only a few hundred of us, unfortunately.”

“Are any of you immune?” Brenda asks.

“Almost none. I myself am not – I’m sure I’ve contracted the Flare by now. It’s only a matter of time before everyone else is infected too, it’s just inevitable in our crumbling world. We need to do what we must in order to salvage the human race.”

Newt points to a few chairs nearby. “Can we sit? I’ve been on my feet for days.”

“You look like you’ve been living with Cranks for days, boy,” Vince comments.

“Ha,” Newt barks out. “You have no idea.”

As soon as Thomas is sitting, he unleashes his questions. “What exactly are you planning to do?”

“You tell me what you have to offer, then I’ll let you know my plans.”

Thomas is starting to get frustrated, but he forces himself to relax into the chair. They’re all on the same side, here, and he needs to act like it.

“Look, we know a lot of things about WICKED’s headquarters and how things work there, we have some in our group that have their memories back.” Thomas pauses before he says this next thing, knowing that his companions won’t like it. “The most important thing, though, is that WICKED _wants_ me back. I think we can use that to our advantage somehow.”

“Whoa, Tommy, what?” Newt interjects.

Brenda cuts a sharp glance over to him, but says nothing.

Vince seems less than impressed. “That’s it? That’s all you have?”

“Hey, I never said we could do much without help. Or weapons.”

At this last comment, Jared and Vince exchange a knowing look.

Thomas knows he’s struck a chord. “What?”

Vince turns back to the three teenagers. “We’ve got something infinitely better than weapons – we have a way to make sure no one can _use_ any weapons.”

~||~

“How?” Brenda asks immediately.

Vince nods to Jared, conceding the question to him.

Jared launches straight into the explanation, looking more animated than Thomas has ever seen him before. “Of everyone that’s been recruited to the Right Arm, one woman holds the key. She used to be a lead engineer for the biggest arms manufacturer in the world – every weapon used by WICKED comes from there, and Charlotte’s figured out a way to render their weapons useless. It’s the only way to level the playing field here. WICKED trains people like military recruits, but the Right Arm is full of everyday people – accountants, teachers, janitors. Even if we had a massive arsenal at our disposal, we’d still be at a disadvantage.”

“A way to render their weapons useless?” Brenda asks, doubtful. “Are you sure?”

Jared explains that there’s a common chip in every weapon that they use, and that Charlotte has spent months trying to figure out a way to reprogram them remotely, jam them somehow. And she’s finally figured it out. Apparently, it will take a few hours before she starts, and that a device needs to be planted inside the building for it to work, so the people who are handing off the Immunes will do the job.

“It’ll be an old-fashioned brawl,” Vince says, grinning mischievously. “Sticks, shovels, knives, bats, and fists. I think we can take them – I’m sure the WICKED employees have grown lax in their hand-to-hand combat, they love their fancy weapons too much.”

As Vince lists out the weapons, Thomas thinks about the battle the Gladers had with the Grievers in the Maze on the night they escaped. It had been exactly like that – just a group of teenage boys with anything with a sharp edge in their hands, facing off against an army of technology hellbent on killing them. He shudders at the memory.

“So how will you do it? Brenda asks.

Vince pauses. “We have three Bergs. We’re going in with about eighty people – the strongest we could find in our group. We’ll hand over the Immunes to our contact inside WICKED, plant the device, and when it does the job, we’ll blow out a hole in the wall and let everyone else in. Once we’ve gained control of the facility, Charlotte will get enough weapons back up and running so that we can _stay_ in control. We’ll do this, or every last one of us will die trying. We’ll blow up the place if we have to.”

The three teenagers are silent for a moment, taking it all in. Thomas thinks that their group could be invaluable to the operation, especially those with their memories back. They’ll know the layout of the WICKED complex.

“We have a Berg too,” Brenda puts in. “Unless Cranks have ripped the thing to shreds. It’s just outside the Denver walls on the northwest side. The pilot is back with our friends.”

“Perfect,” Vince says. “If what Jared has told me about you all is true, then I think your group could be a huge asset to our plan – every body counts, no matter how old or young you are.” Then his expression turns serious. “Our people selling the Immunes could certainly plant the device once they’re inside, but having it in place before we arrive would be a lot easier. Having the Immunes will get us into the airspace and permission to land, but…” he raises his eyebrows at Thomas, as if wanting him to state the obvious himself.

Thomas nods, thinking about Minho and hoping he won’t kill him the next time they see each other. “That’s where I come in.”

“Yes,” Vince says with a smile. “I believe that’s where you come in.”

~||~

A surprising calm has settled over Thomas. “You can drop me off a few miles away and let me hike in. I’ll pretend that I came back to finish the Trials. Based on what I’ve heard, they’ll welcome me with open arms. Just show me what to do to plant the device.”

“I’ll have Charlotte do it herself,” Vince tells him.

Thomas looks over at Brenda and Newt. They both don’t look happy, but have held off on reaming him out, at least for the time being. “You can get information and help from my friends, the ones back at the warehouse – Minho, Chuck, Teresa, Aris. These two here know a lot, as well.”

Thomas’ decision has been quick and absolute. He’s accepted the dangerous task – it’s the best chance they have at finally taking down WICKED for good.

“Alright, Jared,” Vince says. “What’s next? How are we going to do this?”

Jared stands, looking straight at Thomas. “I’ll get Charlotte to train you on the device. Then we’ll take you to our Berg hangar, fly you close to the WICKED headquarters and drop you off while the rest of us are getting ready with the assault team. You better be up for some good acting out there – we’re going to have to wait a couple of hours before we come in with the Immunes or it’ll look suspicious.”

Thomas pulls in a breath, letting it out slowly, trying to calm his thundering heartbeat. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good. We’ll move Minho and the others over here when you leave. I hope you don’t mind another little jaunt through the city.”

~||~

Charlotte is a quiet, petite woman, all business. She explains the device’s function to Thomas in a curt, efficient manner. It’s small enough to fit in the backpack they provide him, along with some food and extra clothing for the cold hike he’ll have to take. Once the device is planted and activated, it’ll search for and connect with the signals from each weapon, then scramble its systems. It would take about an hour to render all of WICKED’s weapons useless.

 _Simple enough_ , Thomas thinks. The hard part will be planting the thing when he gets in without arousing suspicion.

Jared decides that Lawrence will be the one to take Thomas and the pilot to the abandoned hangar where they keep the Bergs. They’ll fly to WICKED’s headquarters straight from there. It means another drive through the Crank-infested streets of Denver, but they’ll take the most direct route, which is down a major highway.

Dawn has finally arrived. For some reason, that makes Thomas feel a little better.

Thomas is gathering some last-minute supplies for the trip when Brenda and Newt appear beside him.

“Tommy, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Newt says. “Chancellor Paige didn’t say anything about the Final Candidate when she talked to me.”

“Well, she’s with the Right Arm, isn’t she?”

“That’s what she _said,_ I guess.And everything’s happened exactly the way she said it would, so… I believe her.”

“Then I’ll be fine, Newt.”

“I just…” He trails off, looking at the floor. “I just got back, and now you’re going off on a solo suicide mission?”

Thomas almost laughs at that. “If we’re talking about suicide missions, let’s talk about how you were just hanging out with Cranks for three days! What if they had found you out? You could’ve been killed!”

Newt frowns.

Thomas barrels on. “Besides, it’s not a _suicide_ mission. I just need to plant the device and stall them for an hour or two. What are they going to do, kill me? They _need_ me. They’ll probably just run some tests, have me jump through a couple hoops. I’ll be _fine_.”

“Who are you trying to convince, you or me?” he asks.

Thomas sighs. “Both of us.”

Newt’s mouth twists, still looking unsure, but he turns away to the window, conceding the point. The light of the sunrise paints his skin in an orangey-pink glow.

Thomas turns to Brenda, and she’s looking at him with somber eyes.

“You’re really going to make me tell Minho that you’ve left to go back to WICKED, aren’t you.”

It’s not a question.

Thomas tries to give her a grin, but he’s pretty sure he only manages a slight grimace. “Sorry. I wish I could see him before I leave, but we’re heading out right away. Make sure he doesn’t go _too_ crazy. Distract him with Newt.”

Brenda huffs a breath of laughter. “That’ll distract him, alright.” Then she’s pulling him into a hug, squeezing him tight. “Be careful. Don’t get yourself killed.”

Thomas hugs her back. “You be careful, too.”

She pulls away, pouting mockingly. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Hey!” Thomas exclaims with a genuine laugh. “I’m nice!”

Brenda grins. “Yeah, you are.”

“Make sure they don’t screw things up,” he tells her. “Make sure all the plans make sense.”

“I will. See you in a day or so.”

“Sounds good.”

She holds out a fist, pinky finger up. “I won’t get killed if you won’t. I promise.”

If Thomas hadn’t been remembering bits and pieces of his life before WICKED, he’d have no idea what Brenda is trying to do. But he’s done this before, with Teresa when they were still young, when secrets and promises guaranteed twin solidarity. It’s a pinky swear.

Thomas links his pinky finger with hers. “Promise.”

~||~

The drive to the hangar is tense, but largely uneventful. There’s a group of Cranks and a massive three car pile-up in the middle of the highway, but Lawrence grits his teeth and puts his foot to the pedal. They must lose some of the van’s paint job as they squeeze through the small opening between the upturned car and the highway sound barrier, but then they’re through. It’s clear sailing from there.

The pilot gets the Berg into the air, and she tells Thomas it’ll be about an hour of flying.

The time is perfect for him to think about what he’s just agreed to do.

He’s going back to WICKED. After everything they’ve done to him and to his family, he’s going back to them. He’s lived through two years in the Maze, survived the Scorch, and finally escaped their clutches. And here he is, on a Berg straight back to their headquarters.

He feels the same way he did in the Glade that time he decided he needed to get stung by a Griever and get some of his memories back. A terrible idea, surely. But necessary. And it had all worked out in the end. Hopefully the Right Arm’s operation will go off without a hitch, and they’ll be able to get to Thomas before anything too drastic happens.

By now, Minho must know what Thomas has done. Thomas hopes that he’s not too angry, that he can take a step back from the situation and realize that Thomas is doing what he can to help take WICKED down from the inside. He wonders how Minho and Chuck have reacted to Newt being immune after all – if they’re mad or just happy he’s back with them, safe and alive.

For the first time since the operation, Thomas wishes he still had that telepathic link with Teresa, just so that he can know what’s happening back with the Right Arm. He hopes that Minho will put aside his differences and work with her.

Before he knows it, Thomas is jumping off the Berg ramp and into a huge snowdrift, and he starts hiking. It’s a long, cold hour, but eventually Thomas can see the huge complex in the distance, resting on the edge of a huge cliff. It’s enormous, made up of wide, unadorned interconnected buildings; the walls are peppered with narrow slits in the white cement, allowing for the occasional window. One rounded building rises up amid the other buildings like a tower. It looks odd next to the squat, sharp edges of the surrounding structure, and Thomas wonders what the hell it’s for.

He continues on, the only sound in the forest being the crunch of snow beneath his feet and his harsh breathing. There are waves crashing against the cliff below, but it’s faint. He’s certain WICKED knows he’s coming by now – the security is surely thorough and tight.

As if they can read his mind, Thomas catches sight of a Beetle Blade, scurrying in the snow beside him, light enough that it doesn’t fall straight through the bank. Its red eyes shine up at him, and it almost looks like it’s smiling, welcoming him back to WICKED.

Thomas remembers the first time he’d seen one in the Glade, for real. Harvey and Chuck had been the first to see the Beetle Blades, right after they’d all come out of the Box. But the first time Thomas had seen one up close was in the Maze. It had been on the wall, peeking out from behind the vines, and Thomas had stopped Minho and went to look at it. By that time, they knew that touching them would only end in pain, so they kept their hands clear. And the Beetle Blade just sat there and watched them, red eyes shining. It had looked between Minho and Thomas for a long time, and then finally got bored at watching two boys watch it, and then scurried up the wall where they couldn’t follow. The Gladers didn’t know exactly what the Beetle Blades were there for, but they knew it was nothing good. Eventually, they realized it was how WICKED watched them while they were in the Maze, how they studied them like they were rats in a cage.

Thomas has always hated those shuck Beetle Blades. Creepy little buggers.

By now, Thomas has made it all the way to the front door. It’s a large, glass monstrosity, and Thomas remembers running out of it in the rain, getting piled into an old beat up bus, where for a long, blissful moment, he’d been safe. Minho, Chuck, Newt, Frypan, Teresa – everyone had been rescued, taken from WICKED’s evil clutches after escaping the Maze. Or so they thought.

And yet here he is, back at WICKED's front door by his own choice. It seems supremely stupid to just reach out and _knock,_ but that’s exactly what he does. As soon as his knuckles rap on the cold, dark glass, a series of locks disengage, one after the other. The door swings open.

Janson – who will always be the Rat Man to Thomas – stands on the other side.

He smiles. “Welcome back, Thomas.”

~||~

Janson starts leading Thomas directly to his office, telling him that he’ll explain what needs to happen once they’re situated, but then Thomas remembers about the device in his backpack. He makes some excuse about needing to use the bathroom – Janson shows him the way to the bathroom he’d used after leaving that white room, and once again, Thomas finds himself staring at himself in the mirror.

He doesn’t look much different than he did the last time he was here. More tired, maybe. Dirtier, definitely. Angrier, if that’s even possible.

Thomas pulls the collar of his shirt to the side, reading the words WICKED branded there before the second Trial. Still there, the lettering just as terrible as it had been the first time he saw it. He wonders if WICKED will ever take it off, or if it’s truly permanent. Maybe he’ll ask Janson.

Finally, he swings the backpack off his shoulders and pulls out the disarming device Charlotte gave him. He scans the small bathroom for a place he can put it without it being noticed.

There – a wooden cabinet used for storing toiletries wedged into the corner of the room. It has a lip on the top big enough that once Thomas slips it past, it’ll be concealed.

Thomas flushes the toilet then turns on the water at the sink. He presses the combination of buttons that Charlotte showed him, wincing at the beep that sounds, then reaches up and deposits it on top of the cabinet. He shuts off the water, trying to calm his nerves as the hand blower runs its course.

The hard part is over. Hopefully, Janson doesn’t suspect anything out of the ordinary.

Back on their way to Janson’s office, portraits of people that Thomas probably knew and worked with line the hallway. One catches his eye – the silhouette is familiar. It’s the woman from all the posters in Denver. Thomas has never been able to tell what she looked like through all the graffitied devil horns and mustaches, but he can tell that this is her. The nameplate beneath the picture confirms it.

So this is the woman that Brenda trusts wholeheartedly, that Newt led a Crank rebellion into Denver for. He wishes he hadn’t cut Brenda off in that coffee shop now – he’s curious as to what she would have told him about the woman.

“Am I ever going to meet the Chancellor?” Thomas asks. Rat Man must have noticed Thomas looking at her as they walk down the hallway side by side.

“Chancellor Paige is very busy,” Rat Man replies, giving absolutely nothing away. They reach a non-descript door, and he says, “Here we are.”

As they enter the office, Thomas sees two people sitting across from a desk. The woman is wearing a dark pants suit and has long red hair, thin wire framed glasses perched on her nose. The man sitting next to her is bald, wearing lime green scrubs. They both look up as they enter, but Thomas doesn’t recognize them.

“These are my associates,” Rat Man says, already moving to sit behind the desk. He motions for Thomas to take the third seat between his two visitors, which he does. “This is Dr. Wright,” he points to the woman, “our head Psych, and Dr. Christensen is our lead Physician. We have lots to discuss, so I apologize if I’m short on the introductions.”

“Why am I the Final Candidate?” Thomas asks, cutting to the chase.

Janson gathers himself, clasping his hands on his desk and leaning forward. “An excellent question. We had a handful of subjects slated in the beginning to… compete for the honour. Recently, it was narrowed down to you and Teresa.”

Turns out that his theory at the beginning of all this had been wrong. Thomas wonders who the third person had been, why they had been booted out of the running.

Rat Man continues on. “But Teresa has a way of following orders that you don’t. Your tendency towards freethinking in response to the Variables is what ultimately determined that you are the Final Candidate. Your entry into the Maze two years earlier provided some very interesting patterns, considering you were only supposed to be there for barely a couple weeks in the original Trial.”

“It’s been an honour to study your brain,” Dr. Wright says.

Thomas sighs, closing his eyes. _Played to the very end_ , he thinks bitterly. His own attempts to rebel had turned out to be exactly what they wanted. Every ounce of anger that bubbles up in him is now directed at the man sitting in front of him, at Rat Man. To Thomas, Janson has come to represent WICKED from top to bottom.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Thomas says, trying his best to keep the fury out of his tone.

“Some patience, please. This won’t take long,” he assures. “Keep in mind that collecting the killzone patterns is a delicate operation. We’re dealing with your mind, and the slightest mishap in what you’re thinking or interpreting or perceiving can render the resultant findings worthless.”

“Yes,” Dr. Wright adds, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I know A.D. Janson told you about the importance of coming back, and we’re glad you made the decision.”

Dr. Christensen clears his throat, then speaks, his voice thin and reedy. Thomas immediately dislikes him. “I don’t know how you could have made any other decision. The whole world is on the verge of collapse, and you can help save it. Help save your friend.”

“My friend?”

Dr. Christensen looks at Thomas like he’s the stupid one. “Newt.”

Oh. So, Chancellor Paige had been right – everyone at WICKED really _is_ under the assumption that Newt isn’t immune. That knowledge makes him feel better about teaming up with the Right Arm. It must have been the right decision.

Thomas hopes the surprise hasn’t shown on his face. He tries to school his expression into one of distant sadness. “Right. Poor Newt.”

“Don’t worry, Thomas. You can help find the cure,” Janson says. “Everything’s ready. But there’s a little more to tell you so you understand this decision you’ve made.”

“More to tell me?” Thomas repeats. “Isn’t the whole part of the Variables so I don’t know anything? Isn’t this the part where you stick me in a cage with some gorillas so you can study my brain waves or something? Watch me swim across an ocean to see if I can make it to shore in the face of hopelessness?”

“Just tell him the rest,” Dr. Christensen mutters.

“The rest?” Thomas asks.

“Yes, Thomas,” Janson says through a sigh. “The rest. After all the Trials, after all the studies, after all the patterns that have been collected and scrutinized, after all the Variables we’ve put you and your friends through. It all comes down to this.”

Thomas doesn’t say anything, almost afraid to ask. He had a strange desire to know, but he also doesn’t want to know at all.

Janson leans his elbows into the desk, a grave look shadowing his face. “One final thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“Thomas, we need your brain.”

~||~

“My… brain?” Thomas forces himself to repeat.

“Correct,” Janson answers.

“And by that, you mean… you need to study it some more. Map the killzone patterns. Build the blueprint.”

Rat Man’s mouth twists, looking down. “Not exactly.”

“The Final Candidate holds the missing piece to complete the data for the blueprint,” Dr. Christensen says then, and Thomas’ stomach sinks when it’s the Physician to add on to this news and not the Psych. “We had no way to know this information until we monitored the patterns against the Variables. Vivisection will give us our final data, your systems functioning properly while we do it. Not that you’ll feel any pain – we’ll heavily sedate you until…”

The doctor doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. The room drifts into silence as the three WICKED scientists await his response. Thomas has spent the last two years facing down death, more times than he can count, and he’s always done so in the desperate hope to survive. He’s done everything in his power to last one more day.

But this is different than what he’d been expecting when he agreed to come here for the Right Arm. He doesn’t just have to last through some random Trial until his rescuers come. This is something that he can’t come back from. This is the end if they don’t come.

He thinks of Minho. Oh, he’s going to be so mad at him.

“Thomas?” Janson prompts, tone light. “I know this must come as quite a shock. But I need you to understand that this isn’t a test. This is not a Variable and I am not lying to you. We think we can complete the blueprint for the cure by analyzing your brain tissue and how, combined with the patterns we’ve collected, its physical makeup allows it to resist the Flare virus’s power. The Trials were all created so we wouldn’t have to cut everyone open. Our whole aim was to save lives, not waste them.”

Dr. Christensen starts outlining the process while Thomas listens in numb silence. “We’ll need you alive, but not awake. We’ll sedate you and numb the area of incision, but there aren’t any nerves in the brain so it’s a relatively painless process. Unfortunately, the procedure is fatal. But the results will be invaluable.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Thomas asks.

Dr. Wright’s eyes flicker with discomfort. “Then we’ll… keep working at it. But we have every confidence–”

“You _don’t_ though, do you?” Thomas cuts her off, unable to help himself. “You’ve been paying people to bring you more immune _subjects_ –” he says the word with vicious spite “–so you can start all over again.”

No one answers at first.

Finally, Janson says, “We will do whatever it takes to find a cure. With as little loss of life as possible. Nothing else needs to be said on the matter.”

“Why are we even talking?” Thomas asks. “Why not just tie me up and rip my brain out?”

Dr. Christensen answers. “You are our Final Candidate. You were part of the bridge between our founders and the current staff. We’re trying to show you the respect you deserve. It’s our hope that you’ll make the choice yourself.”

“Thomas, do you need a minute?” Dr. Wright asks. “I know this is difficult, and I assure you we don’t take it lightly. What we’re asking is a huge sacrifice.”

A huge sacrifice, indeed. No way Thomas is going to agree to this, but he needs to stall, waste some time. The Right Arm is coming.

“I need to be alone,” Thomas tells them. “Please.”

“You’ll be doing the right thing,” Dr. Christensen says. “And don’t worry. You’re not going to feel an ounce of pain.”

Thomas doesn’t want to hear one more word of his shuck mouth, but for now, these people are being nice, giving him the option to have some time before the procedure. “I just need some time alone before this all begins.”

“Fair enough,” Janson says, standing up. “We’ll accompany you to the medical facilities and get you in a private room for a while. Though we need to get started soon.”

Thomas leans forward and puts his head in his hands, staring at the floor. This plan he’d concocted with the Right Arm now seems foolish beyond all measure. Even if he could escape this group, how is he going to survive until his friends arrive? He didn’t even talk to Minho after he’d made his decision, had no way to contact him. God, he’s been so stupid.

Thomas follows the doctors, his mind racing. He doesn’t know what to do. They turn a couple of corners, and the zigzagging makes Thomas think about the Maze. He almost wishes he were back there with Minho and Newt and Chuck and Alby – things had been so much simpler back then.

“There’s a room up there on the left,” Janson explains. “I already put a typing pad in there if you’d like to leave any messages for your friends.” He pauses. “For Minho, perhaps. I’ll figure out a way to deliver them.”

Minho.

“Can you…” Thomas trails off.

“Yes?”

“You got a cell phone to me in Denver. Can you… do the same now? Get one to Minho?”

As soon as the words come out of his mouth, he realizes how stupid it is. Minho’s probably in a Berg with everyone from the Right Arm, on his way here as they speak.

Janson looks down his nose at Thomas like he thought Thomas was smarter than this. “Even if I did want to do that, it’s impossible. Getting that phone to you took _time,_ Thomas. We just don’t have that luxury right now. I brought the typing pad in there for exactly that reason. It’ll have to do.”

Thomas is screwed. So, so screwed.

~||~

Thomas sits in a soft chair, staring at the typing pad on the small table in front of him.

This whole situation has become so much more complicated then he ever could have thought. When he agreed to come here, plant that device and hang tight until the Right Arm showed up, he never would have thought WICKED’s plans for him as the Final Candidate would be to _cut open his brain_.

God, he’d told Newt that WICKED needed him. That they wouldn’t kill him. He’d been so, so wrong.

He doesn’t know quite what he expected, but being dissected alive hadn’t even crossed his mind. He figured that he’d sit tight and play along for a couple hours until the Right Arm came.

But there won’t be any coming back from playing along now.

Is this it? Is this how he dies?

He didn’t even get to say a proper good-bye to Minho. To Newt or Chuck.

Thomas looks down at the typing pad.

Shuck it.

He types up a message to Chuck first, a couple of paragraphs telling him how proud he is of him, of the man he’s become throughout their time together. He tells Chuck to man up and ask Brenda out on a date. Thomas hopes if his brain really is going to be used to help make the cure, that maybe Chuck and the others will be able to grow up in a better world. He refuses to cry as he writes it, then moves on to Newt’s.

Newt’s letter is more difficult, for some reason. Thomas writes about how glad he is that Newt’s okay. That he’s sorry that they didn’t get to spend more time together after he’d gotten back. He writes words he’s never even thought about Newt before, but as soon as they’re typed up, he knows they’re true.

The note he leaves Brenda is just one sentence. _Sorry I broke my promise_.

Then comes Minho’s letter. Thomas writes an entire essay.

He starts with proving that he’s the one who’s writing, knowing that Minho will be suspicious if Rat Man does end up giving him this letter to read. Then he says that he’s sorry. And that he loves him. So, so much. He tells Minho that he tried to call, tried his best to survive until the Right Arm showed up. He mentions that Newt’s practically back from the dead – that he’s disappointed that he never got to see Minho’s reaction to his news.

Janson knocks on the door in the middle of it, bringing in the food that Dr. Wright had said would be brought. He looks like he’s about to tell Thomas to hurry up and eat, but when he sees the tears streaming down his face, he straightens up and leaves without another word.

Thomas hates that he feels grateful towards the evil man. That he’s at least allowed Thomas to finish his goddamn good-bye letter to the love of his life.

He continues writing as soon as Rat Man closes the door. He doesn’t even look at the food.

Thomas types that he’d been wrong to take Brenda to the meeting with the Right Arm. That he should have taken Minho instead. _It should have been me and you, Minho. And that’s on me. I hope you can forgive me for that._

At the end, he tells Minho that he hopes he finds someone else, eventually. That the thought alone hurts so much that he can barely stand it, but that he has Thomas’ blessing, if someone does catch his eye. Maybe someone that can give him cute little baby Minhos in the future.

Thomas can’t believe he’s writing something so buggin’ depressing, but it’s everything he wants to say to him, if he really does end up dying before the night is over.

Finally, he pushes away the tablet, powering it down and shoving it down the side of the couch so he can’t look at it anymore.

He thinks about writing a letter Teresa, but he doesn’t know what he’d say.

Thomas pulls himself together enough to eat, then waits. He’s not going to leave this room until he absolutely has to.

When he dozes, he dreams of Minho. An older version of Minho, one with a smile and crow’s feet crinkling the corners of his eyes. In his strong arms with winding red tree-like markings – they never did fade like Jorge had said – he holds an impossibly small baby, swaddled in a pink blanket. There’s a ring on Minho’s left hand, something twisted and warped like it’s homemade, the material nothing that Thomas has ever seen before. The baby coos, and Minho’s expression positively _melts._ Chuck’s there, and so is Newt. Thomas can’t see Brenda or Teresa or Jorge, but he knows they’re close by. His whole family is here.

It’s a nice dream.

It’s only fitting that Rat Man is the one who takes him from it.

“Thomas?” Janson calls, voice muffled through the closed door, and Thomas startles awake. There are a couple more knocks. “We really need to get things started.”

The words light a fire of panic in Thomas. He thought he’d have more time. How long has it been? Could the Right Arm be close? “I… I’m not ready yet,” Thomas responds.

Janson doesn’t speak for a long moment. “I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice.”

“But…” There has to be a way to drag this out, give him some more time. But before Thomas can pull his thoughts into coordination, Janson is opening the door and stepping into the room.

“Thomas – waiting will only make it worse. We need to go.”

Thomas takes a deep breath. This is really it.

“You _swear_ you’ll get those letters to my friends?” Thomas asks. He pauses. “To Minho?”

Janson looks at him solemnly. “I will do my best. I promise.”

Thomas doesn’t know how trustworthy the Rat Man is, especially after everything that he’s put him and his friends through. But right now, Thomas has no choice but to nod, moving forward and making to follow him.

“Let’s get it over with.”

The Rat Man smiles his signature ratlike smile. “Follow me.”

~||~

Janson leads Thomas to a prep room with a wheeled bed surrounded by all kinds of monitors and several nurses. Dr. Christensen’s there, dressed from head to toe in scrubs, a surgical mask and gloves already in place. Thomas can only see his eyes, and he looks eager to get started.

Thomas is really going to die here. The thought is sudden and terrible.

“So this is it?” Thomas asks. Panic is still coursing through his veins. He doesn’t think his heart has ever raced so hard, not in the Glade, or even in the Scorch. “Time to cut me open?”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor answers. “But we need to begin.”

The Rat Man has just started to open his mouth to speak again when a blaring alarm erupts throughout the building.

Relief floods through Thomas’ system, his heart lurching. It must be the Right Arm. It has to be.

The door swings open, and Thomas turns just in time to see a frantic-looking woman announce, “A Berg arrived with a delivery, but it was a trick to get people inside – they’re trying to take over the main building this very second.”

The main building – is that far from where he is right now? How close are Minho and the others?

But Janson doesn’t waste any time.

“Looks like we need to hurry and get this procedure started. Christensen – put him under.”

~||~

“Dr. Christensen – _quickly!_ ” Janson barks. “Who knows what these people are up to, but we can’t waste a second now. I’ll go tell operating personnel to stand their ground, no matter what.”

“Wait,” Thomas croaks. “I… I don’t know if I can do this.”

The words are fruitless. Thomas knows they’re not going to stop now, not when they’re so close.

Janson’s face burns red. Instead of addressing Thomas directly, he turns to the doctor. “Do whatever it takes to open this kid up.”

Well. So much for the calm approach. Rat Man’s nice guy exterior has finally cracked.

Just as Thomas opens his mouth to speak, a pinprick of pain hits his arm, sending jolts of heat through his body. He goes limp, collapsing onto the gurney. From the neck down he’s completely numb, and terror flares inside of him.

Dr. Christensen leans over him, passing a spent syringe to a nurse. “I’m really sorry, Thomas. We have to do this.”

The doctor and a nurse push him further onto the bed, hoisting his legs so he lays flat on his back. Thomas can move his head slightly from side to side, but that’s all.

The full gravity of the situation comes crashing down on him. He’s about to die. Unless the Right Arm gets to him immediately, Thomas is going to die here.

The Rat Man steps into his view. Nodding approvingly, he pats the doctor on the shoulder. “Get it done.” Then he turns and disappears. Thomas can hear the sound of someone shouting in the hallway before the door fully closes.

“I just need to run a few tests,” Christensen explains. “Then I’ll get you into the operating room.”

It feels like the man is speaking to him from a hundred miles away. Mind spinning, Thomas lay helpless as the doctor takes blood, measures his skull. The man works in silence, but the beads of sweat on his forehead shows that he’s racing against who-knows-what.

Thomas closes his eyes against the watchful gaze of the doctor, of the bright lights above him. How long are the tests supposed to take? Will the Right Arm have time to get to him before they cut open his skull, or will they be too late? Is Thomas really going to die here?

Suddenly, Dr. Christensen straightens, grinning down at Thomas. “I believe we’re ready. We’ll wheel you to the operating room now.”

The man walks through the door, Thomas’ gurney pushed into the hallway after him. Unable to move, he lay staring up at the lights in the ceiling flashing by as he rolls down the hallway. He finally has to close his eyes.

They’ll put him to sleep. The world will fade. And he’ll be dead.

His eyes snap open. He doesn’t want to die. Thomas tries wholeheartedly to get his body to move, to twitch a finger or bend his elbow, but his efforts are wasted. He’s stuck. They’re going to kill him.

“Please…” Thomas starts to say, but nothing else comes out.

“What?” Dr. Christensen asks, peering down at him.

Thomas struggles to speak, but before he can force any words out, a thunderous boom rattles the hallway and the doctor trips. His weight pushes the gurney forward as he scrambles to stop himself from falling. The bed shoots to the right and crashes into the wall, then rebounds and spins until it hits the other side of the hallway. Thomas tries to move, but he’s still paralyzed. Helpless.

He thinks of Minho. Of Chuck and Newt. Teresa. Sadness like he’s never known it before ripples through him. He’s going to leave them all behind. They’ll have been _so close._ The Right Arm is so close.But just not close enough.

Someone screams in the direction of the explosion, shouts follow. Thomas tries to yell, to let them know that he’s here, but no words will leave his mouth.

Then everything goes silent, and the doctor is up on his feet, hurrying to the gurney, straightening it out, pushing it again, banging it through a set of swinging doors. A host of people are waiting for them in a white operating room.

Dr. Christensen starts barking orders. “We have to hurry! Everyone, get to your places. Lisa, get him fully sedated. Now!”

A short lady responds. “But we haven’t done all the prep–”

“It doesn’t matter! As far as we know, the whole building’s gonna burn down.”

The doctor places the gurney next to the operating table, and then several sets of hands are lifting Thomas and moving him over before the gurney even comes to a complete stop. He settles on his back, taking in the beehive of doctors above him. There must be nine or ten of them.

There’s a sharp prick in his arm; he looks down to see a woman inserting an IV into his vein. Thomas can finally twitch his fingers, ball his hands into fists. But it’s not going to do him any good. Lights are being placed above him, other things are stuck into his body in various places. Monitors start beeping, there’s the hum of a machine, people talking over other people. The room is filled with the scurry of movement, like an orchestrated dance.

The lights are so bright, it drowns out most of the room. He lay perfectly still, and yet the room is still spinning. All the while, terror drowns out every other emotion he might be feeling right now. They’re going to kill him. It’s ending, right here, right now.

 _I’m sorry, Minho_.

The drugs finally drag him under, and everything fades away.

~||~

For a long time, Thomas only knows darkness. There’s a break in the void of his thoughts – barely a hairline crack. But just wide enough to shed light on the void itself. Somewhere on the edge of it all, he remembers the doctor telling him that he had to be alive for the procedure to work, but asleep.

Is he asleep?

He must be.

But not dead yet. Soon, though. His brain is probably being taken apart as he thinks, slice by slice.

As he floats through the confusing mass of darkness, he hears a voice. It’s calling his name.

After hearing _Thomas_ several times, he finally decides to go after it. Find it. He makes himself move towards the voice.

Toward his name.

~||~

“Thomas, I have faith in you.”

The voice is there, just on the edge of consciousness. It sounds familiar, the voice feminine, high and crystalline. Thomas fights against the black void of sleep, but he’s losing. He wants to open his eyes, but they won’t budge.

“Wait,” Thomas says, but it comes out as nothing more than a gravelly whisper.

There’s a swish of a door, like it’s been opened and left to close on its own.

He slips back under.

~||~

“Thomas!”

Hands are reaching for him, shaking him to full consciousness.

“Oh my god, _Thomas._ Wake up!” Two fingers press to the side of his neck, searching for a pulse.

The darkness is further away this time, so it’s easier for him to blink open his eyes. He’s still in the operating room. The light is above him, but it’s been shut off. There’s the sound of distant shouts in the hallways beyond, and he pushes himself up on his elbows. Hands shoot out to help him up, and Thomas knows those hands.

Minho.

“You’re alive, thank god,” Minho breathes, helping Thomas fully up to sitting. “I thought – shuck, I thought you were freakin’ dead when I saw you laying here. Are you okay?” He’s out of breath, the words flowing out all in a rush.

Thomas’ mind begins to clear, and he realizes that other than a little grogginess, he feels fine. Which means that, unless the miracles of science really _have_ taken a leap, he still has his brain. He reaches up to feel his skull, just to make sure. He still has all his hair, and he can’t feel anything out of the ordinary.

He’s fine. He’s alive.

Relief floods through him, and he collapses into Minho, shuddering through unshed tears. “You’re here, oh my god, you’re really here.”

Minho wraps his arms around him, squeezing tight. “I’m here,” he assures.

“Where’d everyone go?” Thomas asks, not willing to let go of Minho just yet. “The doctors and the nurses.”

“Probably went to join the fight. You were just laying here when I opened the door.”

Over Minho’s shoulder, a manila folder on the table beside his bed catches his attention. In big red letters, _Thomas_ has been written across the front of it. He pulls back, pointing to the folder. “Did you bring that?”

Minho looks down at it like he’s seeing it for the first time. “No.”

Thomas reaches out and grabs the folder. There are two pieces of paper inside. The first is a map of the WICKED complex, black marker tracing several routes through the building. Thomas quickly scans the second page – it’s a letter, addressed to him and signed by Chancellor Paige. He hands the map to Minho and starts to read the letter from the beginning.

Dear Thomas,

It’s my belief that the Trials are over. We have more than enough data to create the blueprint. My associates disagree with me on this matter, but I was able to stop this procedure and save your life. It’s now our task to work with the data we already have and build a cure for the Flare. Your participation, and that of the other subjects, is no longer necessary.

You now have a great task ahead of you. When I became chancellor, I realized the importance of creating a back door of sorts to this building. I placed this back door in an unused maintenance room. I hope you understand that everything I have done with WICKED and the Right Arm has been accomplished in the pursuit of saving the human race, and what I am going to ask of you next is no different. I’m asking you to remove yourself, your friends, and the considerable number of Immunes we’ve gathered. Time is of the essence, as I’m sure you’re aware.

There are three paths marked on the map that I’ve enclosed. The first shows you how to leave this building through a tunnel – once outside, you’ll see where the Right Arm has created their own entrance to another building. There, you can join them. The second route will show you how to get to the Immunes. The third shows you how to find the back door. It’s a Flat Trans that will transport you to what I hope will be a new life. Take them all and leave.

Ava Paige, Chancellor

Thomas stares at the paper, his mind racing.

“The Chancellor?” Minho asks from behind him, evidently having read the entire letter over his shoulder. “The one that made Newt do all that klunk? Oh, man. What’s her play here?”

Thomas bites his lip, giving Minho a long look. “Brenda trusts her. And so does Newt. There was a woman in here earlier, I swear there was. I didn’t see her, but I heard her. It must’ve been Paige. She just saved my _life_ , Minho. They were going to cut open my brain.”

Minho stares at him in horror. “ _What?_ ”

Thomas flaps a hand. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

Minho points an accusing finger him. “ _Later_ , we are going to have words about you putting yourself into _unnecessary danger_.” But then his shoulders slump, and he raises a hand to push his hair up and out of his face. “But right now, we gotta move. The Right Arm is trying to take over the compound and WICKED employees are still crawling around like shuck cockroaches. Won’t freakin’ die.”

Another rumble from far in the distance proves Minho’s point perfectly.

“Okay, we need to save the Immunes,” Thomas says immediately, getting his head back in the game.

“Right,” Minho agrees. “But we can’t do it alone. Chuck and Newt and the others are all here – we split up to try and find you, but by now I’m sure they’re back with the Right Arm. We need to get them first.”

Thomas nods. “Agreed.”

Minho holds up the map so they both can see it, then traces a finger along the route that will lead them outside, to where the Right Arm has apparently created their own entrance into the WICKED compound.

Thomas quickly memorizes the route, then automatically scans the other ones.

Is that…? No. It couldn’t be. Thomas pulls the map closer, but there’s no mistaking what it has written there.

“Minho…” Thomas whispers, realization dawning, pointing at a spot on the map.

“Oh my god,” Minho murmurs, having noticed the same thing.

The Immunes. WICKED has hidden the Immunes in the Maze.

~||~

Thomas and Minho follow the Chancellor’s map through the winding hallways, down multiple flights of stairs to the basement. The path takes them through empty room after empty room, and then finally to a small door that opens to a tunnel. It stretches on for what seems like forever with no end in sight. It’s exactly like that long passageway they took to the Scorch after stepping through that Flat Trans.

“Remind you of something?” Minho quips.

“At least this tunnel has lights,” Thomas replies. “Come on.”

“Here’s hoping there’s no flying silver balls,” Minho says, and then they’re running.

It’s not too long before they come to the end of the tunnel, where a ladder has been marked on the map. Up they go – at the top, there’s a round metal door with a wheel handle, exactly like the entrance to the Map Room back in the Glade. Seeing it again makes Thomas’ stomach twist in a weird way.

Thomas forces the door up and open, pushing with all his strength. A great gust of cold air blows over him as he heaves himself out and onto the ground. As soon as he gets his bearings, he’s turning around and reaching a hand down to help Minho out of the tunnel.

Together, they carefully close the lid, then crouch behind a massive rock jutting out of the earth.

“Where’d the Right Arm blow their hole in the wall?” Thomas asks Minho over the whipping wind.

“I don’t know, I was a little more focused on trying to find _you_ then to document where the shuck Berg landed,” Minho replies.

Thomas rolls his eyes and takes the map out of his back pocket, squinting at it in the gloom of night. He points out a cluster of buildings on the paper to Minho, then tilts his head in the way they need to go. Minho nods.

They go for it, edging around the boulder and running, trying to stay as low as possible. Lightning streaks across the sky, illuminating the cement of the buildings and flashing off the white snow.

Minho groans lowly beside him. “Why does it always have to be lightning?”

They reach the first building and push through the line of ragged bushes up against the wall. The two boys edge along the side of the structure, but find nothing. Thomas holds up a hand as he reaches the corner. He peers around it – the space between the buildings holds a series of courtyards, but still no way inside.

“Anything?” Minho murmurs.

“No,” Thomas answers. “Come on.”

They skirt the next two buildings, and as they approach the fourth one, they hear voices. Minho doesn’t have to be told even once – they both drop to the ground, and quietly as they can, crawl along the frozen dirt towards an overgrown bush. Minho peeks around it to search for the sound of the noise.

He whips back around, nodding to Thomas. “It’s there.”

“The Right Arm?”

“Yeah. There’s two people sitting up there, probably guarding it. We’ll just need to–” Minho cuts off with a muffled grunt as a hand appears out of nowhere, closing around his mouth and yanking him backwards. Another arm snakes around his chest and heaves him up; Minho’s feet kick up dirt and snow as he struggles, but the person is too strong.

Thomas is about to scream Minho’s name, but then there’s a gun pressed to Thomas’ temple, and a bone chilling voice says into his ear, “You scream, he dies. Now get up.”

Fingers dig into his upper arm as he’s pulled none too gently to his feet, shoved in the direction after Minho, who’s still struggling in the other man’s arms, probably shouting muffled curse words from under his hand. They’re forced around the corner of the building into another small courtyard. He doesn’t have to look to know who his assailant is – the voice had been a dead give away.

Janson.

“I’m very disappointed,” the Rat Man says. “Looks like not everyone in my organization is on the same team after all.”

Minho’s shaken off the man’s hand, and is about to shout for help when the man who’s been holding him grabs a knife from who-knows-where, raising it to his neck. The words die in Minho’s throat and he stills, swallowing thickly. By now, he’s noticed the gun pressed into the side of Thomas’ head.

Janson sighs. “I guess we’re going to have to do this the hard way.”

~||~

Janson steps into Thomas’ space, close enough that Thomas can smell the Rat Man’s awful breath as he speaks. “Let me tell you something, kid. I’ve never thought of myself as a violent man, but you and your–” he flicks his wild gaze over to Minho in disgust, “– _friends_ here have driven me to the brink. My patience is stretched to a minimum, but I’m going to show restraint. Unlike you, I think about more than myself. I’m working to _save_ people, and I _will_ finish this project.”

Thomas forces every inch of himself to relax, remain calm. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Minho, willing him to do the same. Struggling won’t accomplish anything, and they both need to save their energy for when the right opportunity presents itself.

There’s no way he’s going anywhere with Rat Man. At least, not alive.

“That’s a good boy. No need to fight this. You should be proud, Thomas. It will be you and your mind that save the world.”

The man who had grabbed Minho speaks then. He’s a bulky man with short black hair. “You’re going to go with A.D. Janson, or I’m going to slit your boyfriend’s neck. Understand?”

Thomas looks pointedly at Minho, who nods ever so slightly.

“I understand,” Thomas says as calmly as he can.

Janson smiles, a sickly grin in the dim light of the courtyard. “Smart boy.”

It’s then they both act – Minho clutches the man’s arm that’s holding the knife in both hands, then kicks back at the man’s knee with all the strength he can muster. Thomas hears the crack of bone and tendon, and the man crumples with a hoarse scream. Minho is able to grab the knife before it clatters out of his grip, and then he’s on him, punching his face.

At the same time, Thomas pushes Janson’s arm forward while he steps back; the gun fires right in front of his eyes. Thomas wonders for a split second where the Rat Man got a working gun, but he barely hesitates – he grabs the barrel of the gun in one hand and Rat Man’s bicep in the other, then slams his arm down on his knee, hard enough to wrench the gun out of his grip. Janson shouts in pain, falling to his knees. Thomas kicks him in the face, and he goes sprawling back to the pavement.

Thomas takes the gun in his right hand, moving to press his foot into Janson’s neck. The Rat Man grunts at the pressure against his throat, his face screwed up into unnatural rage. His eyes widen enough to reveal the whites. They’re completely bloodshot. It’s a look that Thomas has seen before.

“You little…” Janson manages. “You have no idea what you’re doing!”

“You have the Flare,” Thomas tells the man.

Janson reaches up to try to pry Thomas’ foot off his neck, but Thomas doesn’t budge. Rat Man eyes the gun pointed at him warily.

“Congratulations, Thomas,” Janson sneers. “You figured it out. Why don’t you kill me, huh? Put me out of my misery like you did the original Creators. Do it!” he screams. “ _Do it!_ ”

Thomas wants to. He aims the gun, right at the Rat Man’s forehead.

A calm seems to spread throughout Janson, and he nods. “Do it. Kill me.”

“What about your shuck cure?” Minho asks, stepping closer. He still has the knife in his hand, and Thomas can see out of the corner of his eye that the bulky man is unconscious, face bloody. “That thing you’ve been working your entire life for. You’re just going to give up?”

Janson laughs, a terrible gurgling sound. His teeth are bloody from where Thomas had kicked him. “I’m just a cog in the machine, boys. The work will continue. It will always continue. There will be a cure. One day. Whether I’m around or not.”

“You crazy rat bastard,” Minho says. He turns to Thomas, speaking lowly. “We need to get to the others. Find the Immunes.”

“You’re right,” Thomas murmurs. He slowly lowers the gun, looking down at the man sprawled across the pavement. “Find someone else to put you down, Janson. It won’t be me.” Then he steps off his neck, following Minho as they sprint towards the Right Arm.

~||~

When the two Right Arm guards see them running like mad towards them, they spring to their feet.

“It’s Thomas!” Thomas shouts, waving his arms. “And Minho! We’re on your side!”

The two boys skid to a stop in front of the guards, watching them exchange a confused glance.

“Everyone’s been looking for you two,” the male guard says. “But you’re supposed to be in there.” He jabs a finger at the hole crumbled into the wall.

“Yeah, well. Things took a different turn,” Minho tells them.

“Where is everybody?” Thomas asks. “Vince and the others? We need to find our friends.”

“Calm down, kid,” the female guard responds. “Things are kind of quiet right now. People getting in position, planting, that sort of thing.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Planting?”

“Planting,” the man confirms.

“What does that mean?” Thomas asks.

“Explosives, you idiot. We’re about to bring this whole building down. Show old WICKED that we mean serious business.”

~||~

Everything sharpens with laser focus in that moment. There had been a fanaticism about Vince that hasn’t fully hit Thomas until now. Plus the way the Right Arm had treated him and his friends when they were shoved in that van. Why did they have no conventional weapons but military grade explosives? It made no sense – unless their goal had always been to destroy, not to take over. Through it all, Thomas wonders if Chancellor Paige has been in on this the whole time, or if she’s just as surprised at this turn of events as Thomas is.

Minho and Thomas look at each other for a long moment, the knowledge of what the explosives mean passing between them. If the WICKED complex is going to blow, then all the Immunes are going to crumble down along with it.

Him and Minho need to step carefully. They have to get to their friends, then find and release the other Immunes who have been captured.

“You two are awfully quiet,” the lady says. “Doing a lot of thinking in those noggins of yours.”

“Yeah… sorry,” Thomas responds. “When are they setting off the explosives?”

The man shrugs. “Pretty soon, I suppose. They’ve been planting for hours. They want them all to detonate at the same time, but I’m guessing we aren’t that skilled.”

“What about the Immunes?” Minho interjects. “The people the Right Arm came to _rescue._ What this whole operation has been _for._ ”

The two guards look at each other, then shrug. “Vince hopes to get everyone out.”

“I’m sorry – he _hopes_ to?”

“Sure does.”

“Uh huh.”

“We need to talk to him,” Thomas says. What they _really_ need to do is find their friends. Right Arm or no Right Arm, he knows what they have to do – get into the Maze and lead everyone out of there to the Flat Trans.

The lady points through the hole in the side of the building. “Just through there, there’s an area they’ve pretty much taken over. Careful, though. WICKED’s got guards hidden all over the place. And they’re vicious buggers.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Thomas tells her, then gestures for Minho to follow him into the dark hole. There’s no more alarms or flashing lights. They step through.

~||~

At first, they don’t see or hear anything. Thomas and Minho move like one person, completely in silence, stepping carefully and watching for movement. The lights get brighter the farther they walk, and finally there’s a door at the end of the hallway that’s been propped open. Minho spots it at the same time, and they both jog to the doorframe; he nods at Thomas, then they both peer in.

It’s a large room with tables scattered across the floor, set on their sides like shields. Several people crouch behind them, all watching the open double doors on the opposite side of the room.

“Vince and Jared are over there,” Minho whispers, pointing to a spot Thomas can’t quite see.

He leans his head farther into the room. “Hey!” he whisper-shouts as loud as he can. “Hey! Jared!”

The boy turns immediately, squinting at the door like he can’t quite make the two boys out. Finally, recognition blooms across his features, and he motions for Thomas and Minho to come closer.

They both scurry across the small space, keeping low, collapsing on the floor next to Jared.

“You found him!” Jared says to Minho, then turns to Thomas. “What’d they do to you?”

Vince shoots Jared a glare, but doesn’t say anything.

Thomas flickers his gaze over to Minho, who’s glaring back at him pointedly. “They… ran some tests. Look, we know where WICKED’s keeping the Immunes. You guys can’t blow the place up until we get them out.”

“Then go get ‘em,” Vince says. “We’ve got a one-shot deal here, and I’m not going to waste it.”

“You _brought_ some of those people here!” Minho exclaims. Thomas looks over to Jared, and he’s looking between Minho and Vince, conflicted.

“Where are Newt and Chuck? The others?”

Jared nods towards the side of the room, to a closed door that Thomas thinks leads to an office. “Through there. Just came back a little while ago, said they couldn’t find you.”

Thomas thinks about the Flat Trans he’s going to lead everyone through, to what Chancellor Paige called a new life. If anyone deserves such a thing, it’s Jared.

“Jared, come with us. Let these guys do whatever they want, but come help us. Please.”

Vince spins on them. “Don’t even think about it,” he barks. “Thomas, you knew what our goals were coming into this. If you abandon us now, I’ll consider you a turncoat. You’ll be a target.”

“We’re just going to save the people _you_ put here,” Minho scoffs.

Thomas keeps his gaze focused on Jared. He sees a sadness in the boy’s eyes that makes his heart break. He also sees something he never got the chance to see in the Glade – Jared had been taken from them so early. It’s trust. Genuine trust.

“Come with us,” Thomas repeats.

A smile spreads across Jared’s face. “Okay.”

Thomas doesn’t wait for Vince to react, he just grabs Jared’s arm and they run to the office together, Minho right behind them.

They slip inside, and then it seems that everyone’s on him – Chuck first, who pulls him into a bone-crushing hug, then Newt, Brenda, Jorge, Teresa, Aris even. The quick rush of hugs and words of relief and welcome is dizzying. As great as it feels to be back with his friends, he knows they don’t have time to waste.

“We don’t have time for us to explain everything right now. But we all need to go find the Immunes WICKED took, then this back door Flat Trans thing we learned about – we need to hurry before the Right Arm blows this whole place up.”

“Where are the Immunes?” Brenda asks.

“Yeah, what’d you learn?” Newt adds.

Minho and Thomas exchange a quick knowing glance, and Minho shrugs as if to say _Better to rip the band-aid off._

“What?” Chucks asks. “What is it?”

Thomas turns to his friends, saying words he never thought he’d ever have to say in his life. “We need to go back into the Maze.”

~||~

Thomas shows the fifteen other people in the room the map and the letter from Chancellor Paige.

Jared sees the signature at the bottom of the letter and is immediately on board. At Minho’s questioning look, he says, “Who do you think told me to act crazy to get to the Right Arm?”

There’s no time to be surprised. Brenda takes one look at the map and tells them that she knows the way. Everyone seems to be good with the plan, even Teresa and Aris.

Brenda holds out a knife to Thomas, but Thomas shows her the gun he’d taken from Janson.

“It works?” Brenda asks.

Thomas checks the clip – only one bullet gone. He tucks the weapon into the waistband of his jeans. “Yup.”

“Not gonna ask you how you know that. I’m just going to trust you.”

“For the best, really.”

Brenda instead turns to hand the knife to Chuck, who takes it gratefully.

With everyone armed as best they can, they slip out the office door and make their way to the double doors. Vince and the others yell at them, call them crazy, tell them they’ll be killed within minutes. They ignore every word.

Minho checks the hallway, then nods to the rest of them that it’s clear. Brenda leads the way – they turn a corner, go down a long flight of stairs, take a shortcut through an old storage room. Another long hallway. Down more stairs. A right, then a left. Thomas keeps a fast pace, constantly scanning for danger. With Minho by his side, they’re Runners again. Despite everything, it feels good.

They approach the end of one hallway and turn to the right. Thomas has only gone three more steps when out of nowhere, someone grips his shoulders and throws him to the ground.

Thomas falls and rolls, pushing to get the person off him. He hears shouts and the sounds of others struggling, but it’s dark and Thomas can’t even see the person he’s fighting. He’s too worried about firing the gun blind in close quarters, so he keeps it firmly tucked into the small of his back and resolves to fight without the weapon. He punches and kicks at his unknown assailant, but they have heavy tactical gear protecting them and he’s not making much traction.

“Little help here!” Thomas shouts.

“Thought you had a bloody gun!” Newt yells back. He sounds out of breath.

“I can’t see anything!” Thomas responds, still trying to get the guard off of him. He punches what he thinks is the person’s face, and it’s a woman who groans in pain. “I’m not going to risk shooting one of you by accident!”

“I’m coming,” Minho grunts. It sounds like he gives one last punch to whoever he’s whaling on, and then the woman on top of Thomas screams, pausing her attack. She’s pushed off with a brutal kick to her head. Thomas scrambles to his feet, and he sees the handle of a knife sticking out of her torso. Minho reaches down and pulls the knife out, wiping the blade on his jeans.

“Thanks,” Thomas pants.

“’Course,” Minho replies.

Around him, the fight is all but over. Harriet and another girl from Group B stand over one guard, giving him one last final kick; Teresa and Aris are leaning against the wall, catching their breath. There’s one guard still standing right at the end of the hallway, but he sees Brenda, Jorge, Chuck, and Newt all advancing on him and he hightails it back the way he came. Everyone has survived, but they still have farther to go. They need to run.

“Come on!” Thomas shouts.

All as one, they keep running, abandoning the fallen WICKED guards. Thomas doesn’t know if any of them are going to be getting back up, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

They run down another long flight of stairs, stumbling one by one into the room in the bottom. Thomas freezes in shock when he realizes where they are. It’s the area they’d found themselves in when they finally escaped the Maze. The observation room windows are shattered, glass strewn about the floor, remnants of the fake rescue that WICKED never bothered to clean up. More Griever pods line the back of the room, and they look like they’ve been sealed closed since the Gladers came through all those weeks ago. A thick layer of dust coats them now, dulling the once shiny exterior.

One glaring thought comes to mind. Chuck was supposed to die here.

Thomas glances over to Jared, who looks supremely uncomfortable to be back here, eyeing the room with trepidation.

Brenda is pointing at a ladder that leads up to where they need to go.

“We could have just climbed down?” Chuck exclaims. “They made us go down that disgusting chute for no reason?” He stares up at the darkness where the ladder disappears into. “I really hate WICKED.”

Minho spins in a small circle. “Why isn’t there anybody here? If they’re hiding people in the Maze, then why no guards? Seems fishy.”

“Let’s just get the Immunes and get out,” Thomas says. If no one is here to stop them, then Thomas isn’t going to question it.

“Good that,” Newt replies. “You first.” He gestures an arm to the ladder.

Thomas does just that – he climbs the ladder into a familiar-looking room, the one with the input stations where Teresa had typed the code words to shut down the Grievers.

Minho is right behind him, and as soon as he’s standing, he mutters, “Home, sweet home.” He points up at the Griever Hole above them, the one that will lead to the Maze. Back when the Maze was fully operational, holotech had been used to conceal it, to make it look like part of the fake, endless sky beyond the stone edge of the Cliff. It’s all turned off now, though, and Thomas can see the walls of the Maze through the opening. A stepladder has been placed directly under it.

Thomas looks at the stepladder. “That’s convenient.”

“Sure is,” Minho says, giving Thomas a pointed look.

“Okay, you’re right,” Thomas concedes. “This is a little fishy.”

“Ya think?” Minho shakes his head. “Let’s just get to the Immunes. Who knows when this place is going to blow?” Then he’s up and out of the room, disappearing above.

Several other people follow him up, but Teresa moves to stand beside him, and he turns to her.

“I can’t believe we’re back here,” Teresa murmurs. She hesitates for a moment, but then speaks again. “When I got my memories back, I remembered the years I spent watching you up here. You running the Maze, falling in love with Minho. God, Thomas, it was excruciating. Knowing that you might die at any moment, that you had no idea who I was, what we’d both done. And now here we are. Back again. Together.”

She smiles over at Thomas, and Thomas finds himself smiling back. He realizes that standing here, they’re finally on equal ground. Trying to save lives, trying to make up for what they’d done to help start it all.

“Together,” he echoes. There’s still so much he doesn’t remember, but she’s here, and helping, and that’s all he can ask for.

“Let’s go,” Teresa says, and Thomas realizes they’re the last two people in the room.

Thomas follows her up, scaling the ladder and pushing himself up onto the ledge. He walks over the two boards that have been placed across the gap to the Maze’s stone floor at the Cliff’s edge. Below him, he sees a black walled work area that had always looked like endless sky.

For a moment, he thinks of everything that has happened on this damn Cliff. Minho kissing him for the first time. Surviving a night in the Maze. Finding the Griever Hole. Escaping.

He looks back up to the rest of the Maze and has to pause to take it all in.

Where there once had been blue sky for two years straight, there’s now only a dull grey ceiling. Seeing the massive stone walls, covered in ivy like they’ve always been, takes his breath away. The walls have always been towering even without the help of an illusion, and now they rise above them like monoliths, like they’ve stood here for a thousand years and will stand for a thousand more, enormous tombstones marking the death of so many.

Two years he’d lived here. And now he’s back.

~||~

The Cliff has always been in Thomas and Minho’s section of the Maze, and they know the way back to the Glade by heart. It’s been weeks since they’ve been here, but it’s done nothing to diminish the muscle memory engrained in both of the boys. They lead their group through the sharp turns and corners that Thomas knows like the back of his hand.

He wonders what Brenda and Jorge think of this place, of the sheer size of it. If they had ever watched the Glade through the Beetle Blades, a camera could never have translated just how massive the Maze is back to the observation rooms. And he can only imagine what kind of bad memories are crashing through Jared’s brain right now.

They turn a corner that leads them to the wide corridor that will lead them to the West Door. Thomas spots the swath of ivy that he and Minho tied Alby up in, only for him to sacrifice himself to the Grievers a week later.

Anger slices through him like a hot blade, and when Thomas looks over to Newt, the rage is mirrored on his face perfectly.

They finally reach the huge gap in the walls that make up the West Door, and Thomas catches his breath, slowing. There are hundreds of people milling about the Glade, and Thomas is horrified to see that there are small children – _babies_ – scattered throughout the crowd. It takes barely a moment for the Immunes to notice the new arrivals. Within seconds, every eye is trained on Thomas and his friends, utter silence falling upon the Glade.

“Did you guys know there were this many?” Newt asks, turning to Minho and Thomas.

They both shake their head.

Speechless, Thomas takes in the Glade. They haven’t even been gone that long, but to be back in the only home he’s ever known is making his chest and throat tighten. Through the hordes of people, he can see the forest in the corner that holds his favourite spot, the area in the Glade that was strictly his and only his. There are the Deadheads nearby, and Thomas hears Jared’s breath hitch when he sees his own name sketched into a wooden board next to Aaron’s. Thomas can even see the hammock that he and Minho had come to share, currently occupied by two small children playing.

It doesn’t take long for their friends to spot them – Frypan comes running, along with a few other Gladers and several girls from Group B, Sonya included. There’s a short burst of reunions and hugs.

Frypan swats Thomas on the arm. “Can you believe they put me back in this place? I guess WICKED took my wish to be back in the Homestead a little too seriously. And get this – they wouldn’t even let me cook, just sent us a bunch of packaged food in the Box three times a day. Kitchen doesn’t even work! No electricity, nothing.”

Thomas laughs at the mental image of Frypan’s joy at being back in the Homestead, only to have his hopes and dreams crushed as he tried to turn on the stove.

“I remember you complaining about having to cook for over fifty people – try feeding this army,” Chuck ribs.

“Funny man, Chuck. You are a funny man. I’m glad to see you.” His eyes widen as he takes in Minho. “What the hell happened to you, man?” he asks, pointing at his arms.

Minho sticks his arms out, observing the red winding markings that climb up to his biceps. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“How the hell did you find time to get tattooed while you were on the run from WICKED?”

Minho laughs. “They ain’t tattoos, Frypan.”

“What the hell?” He reaches out to grab Minho’s arm, pulling it close enough to inspect the markings. But he gets distracted by the person behind Minho, and he drops the arm, face going pale. “Jared? Jared’s alive?”

“Hey, Frypan,” Jared says with a watery smile.

Minho claps a hand to Frypan’s shoulder. “It’s a long story, I’ll tell it to you later. But the short version is, he won’t try to kill any of us anymore, and I won’t have to stick him with the pointy end of my knife.”

Thomas winces at the sharp comment, but Jared just smirks. “Scout’s honour.”

Frypan shakes his head slowly, like he still can’t believe it. But he gets over it pretty quick, turning to Newt. “Dude, I can’t believe you’re okay. So many of our group that weren’t immune went off their rockers the moment we all flew away in the Berg.”

Newt smirks. “Good thing I’m immune, then.”

Frypan furrows his brow. “But Rat Man said that–”

“Another long story for another time,” Minho interrupts. “Happy time is over. Thomas, how in the world are we going to get all these people down to that Flat Trans?”

Thomas looks out at the five hundred or so people that are milling about the Glade. Trying to funnel them all one by one out of the Griever Hole sounds like a nightmare, but he says. “Shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Don’t feed me that klunk,” Minho says. “I can see it in your eyes that you hate the thought of it just as much as I do.”

“You know me so well,” Thomas says dryly. He catches Teresa’s eye, then Brenda’s, waving them over.

“What’s the plan?” Teresa asks.

“We’re going to have to split them into groups,” Thomas starts to explain to everyone. “There’s gotta be almost five hundred people in here, so… ten groups of fifty. We’ll need Runners to get everyone through the Maze – who from Group B knows the Maze?” Five girls raise their hand. “Perfect. We’ll have enough. Some of us should be placed throughout the way to prevent anyone from taking a wrong turn – Jorge and Jared, can you help people into the Griever Hole? Newt and Chuck – you two man the ladders, one at the top, one at the bottom. Teresa, do you know how to get to this maintenance room?”

He shows her the map, and after she examines it for a moment, she nods.

“Then I’ll help move people along, and you and Brenda can lead the way. Good?”

Everyone nods.

Minho suggests dividing people into groups based on age and strength and fighting ability, but Thomas sends him an apologetic look and shoots it down immediately. They have no time to lose – Vince told them point blank that they were going to be targets if they went to find the Immunes, and Thomas won’t put it past him to blow WICKED’s entire complex up with them still in it.

Thomas debates giving a speech to tell everyone that they’re on the same side, about what the plan is, but it’ll just be wasted time. It turns out the absence of a speech isn’t a huge problem. Once the Immunes realize the new arrivals have come to rescue them, they have no problems following orders, as long as it means an escape.

Thomas starts counting off fifty people at a time and sending them with anyone who’s a Runner, trying to send families with small children through first.

Teresa, Brenda, and Harriet go through with the first group, and then two more groups go, each led by a Runner from Group B. Two Runners from the Glade lead the next couple of groups.

Five groups have made it safely into the Maze when things start going wrong. Thomas has just pointed the sixth group in the direction of the West Door when there’s a violent crack that booms through the Glade. Sounds like stone splintering.

Thomas’ heart sinks. They’re out of time.

Thomas turns to the rest of the Immunes – their numbers have dwindled considerably. “This whole place is going to blow! We have to move, _now!_ ”

~||~

No one has to be told twice. Everyone starts running after the sixth group, led by Sonya. Thunderous cracks and booms echo throughout the Glade, the sound of rock fracturing behind them. Thomas looks over his shoulder to see the wall that used to make up the East Door break loose, rocks tumbling down until the entire section collapses to the grassy area below. The ground shakes with the impact.

Thomas stumbles, regains his balance, then runs over to Minho. “Bring up the rear! Make sure everyone gets to the Griever Hole. I’ll get up front and direct people!”

Minho looks at him like he hates the very idea, but nods. “I better see you when I get there,” he says, then gives Thomas a push to get him going.

Thomas makes his way to the front, weaving through sharp corners, helping people who have fallen to their feet, righting others where they’ve stumbled. The terrible sound of wood splintering and crashing continues behind him. He imagines the entire structure of the Homestead crumbling, the Right Arm laying complete waste to the Maze with only a few strategically placed bombs.

Up ahead, there’s a small boy – he can’t be more than two years old, standing out of the way of the mass of people sprinting down the stone corridors. He’s crying, face red and wet. No one is paying him any mind as they run past – too focused on making it out of here to think of anything else.

Thomas doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even stop running. He reaches out for the kid and swings him into his arms just as a huge rock tumbles into the empty space, crumbling against the stone floor.

“It’s okay,” Thomas whispers to the child. “It’s gonna be okay.” He presses the toddler’s head into his chest as he runs, trying to block out the roaring of the Glade falling to pieces around them. The kid doesn’t fight him, just holds on tight.

The Griever Hole is a huge roadblock – only one person can get through it at a time, and Thomas has to squeeze his way through the corridor to the front of the pack of people that have gathered and are waiting their turn. Thomas sees Jared and Jorge facilitating who goes next, effectively preventing everyone from going at once in a stampede that would surely kill half of them.

Jorge doesn’t even blink at the fact that Thomas has acquired a small child. “Newt and Chuck are sending people down the chute – faster that way,” he tells Thomas. “Down you go.”

Thomas arranges the boy so his arms are wrapped around his neck, telling him to hold on tight before he drops down to the stepladder below.

Before Thomas can see him, Chuck’s voice rings out. “Where’d you get a kid?” Thomas turns to where Chuck is ushering an older man and woman through the chute. “Thought we sent all of them in the earlier groups.”

“Got lost, I don’t know,” Thomas replies, not wanting to talk about the child while the child is right here listening. Can two year olds even talk? Does he know what’s happening? This poor kid. Where is his family? He hears another thunderous boom from above, and he ducks, automatically raising a hand to shield the child as he curls inward. “Newt, you’re supposed to be at the bottom!”

“Teresa’s down there!” Newt calls back.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know, ask her!”

Through it all, more people are spilling out of the Griever Hole and following one after each other down the chute.

“Okay, I will. Keep up the good work, guys!” Thomas yells to Newt and Chuck as he runs to the ladder. He looks down at the boy wrapped around his chest like a koala. “Keep holding tight, kid. We’re almost there.” The small arms squeeze tighter, and Thomas takes that as a green light to pick his way quickly down the ladder. Once he reaches the bottom, he’s relieved to see that most of the damage hasn’t reached this section of the building yet. Teresa is at the bottom of the chute like Newt said, helping people get to their feet as they land, then pointing them in the direction they needed to head.

“Why are you back here?” Thomas shouts. “I thought you were all the way at the front!”

“I was!” Teresa calls over her shoulder. She pauses when she sees the teary-eyed boy Thomas is holding, then continues. “But then I heard things start to blow up, so I came back to help.”

“I’ll do this,” Thomas tells her. “Take the kid and get to the front of the pack.”

Teresa is about to answer when she catches sight of something behind him. Her eyes widen in fear, and Thomas spins around.

Several of the dusty Griever pods are slowly opening, their top halves lifting upward on hinges like the lids of coffins.

~||~

“Shuck Grievers,” Thomas whispers. He grabs the arm of the next person who slides out of the chute, a middle-aged woman with rock dust all over her face, her blonde hair matted to the side of her head. He pulls her to the side. “I need you to take this kid and follow everyone down to the basement, get him back to his family. Can you do that?”

The woman looks down at the child, surprised, but she nods. “Of course.”

“Perfect.” Thomas tries to hand the child to the woman, but the boy won’t let go of his neck. “Listen to me kid, you can’t stay up here. I’d keep you with me if I could, but things are about to get real dangerous.” He casts a glance over to the Griever pods, tubes and machinery whirring. It won’t be long before they’re fully operational, ready to murder everyone who passes through. “This woman is going to bring you back to your family, okay? To someplace safe. I’ll see you down there. I promise.”

The child sniffles, but does loosen his grip, and Thomas hands him over to the woman, hoping that his words aren’t a lie.

Thomas turns to the woman. “You protect him with your life.”

She nods. “I will.”

“Good. Now go!”

Then Teresa is grabbing him by the shoulders, spinning him around and looking him straight in the eye. “Listen to me. On the tail end of the Grievers, inside the blubber, there’s a switch, like a handle. All you have to do is reach through the skin, pull it out, and they die. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He runs to the nearest pod, Teresa running to the farthest. She yells at the people coming out of the tube to follow each other, pointing in the direction they need to go. One of the people that comes through the chute is Frypan – instead of following everyone else, he stands his ground and starts directing people, taking over Teresa’s job.

Thomas pulls himself up onto the lip of the container, leaning down and over to the Griever inside. He slams his hand through the moist skin to find what Teresa had described, grunting with the effort. He pushes until he finds a hard handle, then yanks on it with all his strength. The whole thing tears loose, and the Griever collapses in on itself, a limp mass of jelly at the bottom of the pod.

Thomas looks at his arm, covered up to his elbow in oily residue. “That is… disgusting,” he says to himself, dropping the handle to the floor and rushing to the next pod. Teresa is already pulling out the handle of the second Griever, throwing it to the ground and moving onto the third. Once Thomas pulls the handle out of the next one, all the pods that were opened are decommissioned.

Thomas and Teresa look at each other over the dead Grievers, chests heaving.

“Good job,” Teresa tells him.

Thomas huffs a laugh. “You too.”

“Thomas!”

Thomas spins around to see Minho getting to his feet at the bottom of the chute, rushing towards him. Minho wraps him in a huge hug, but it’s only a quick embrace before they’re pulling away, turning to everyone else around them.

“Everyone’s out?”

Minho nods. “Everyone left alive, at least.”

Thomas almost doesn’t want to ask. “How many didn’t make it?”

“At least fifty. Maybe a hundred.”

Thomas lets out a shaky breath. It’s like when they escaped the Maze all over again, and Minho had told him that less than half survived. But one hundred out of five hundred isn’t too bad – it could have been so much worse.

Chuck, Newt, Jorge, Minho, Aris, Jared, Frypan, and Teresa all exchange heavy glances. But they have no choice but to keep on moving.

“We better hurry. Come on!”

~||~

Thomas pulls out the map, but it turns out they don’t need it. Everyone has been whittled down to a single file line, and it doesn’t take too long for their small group to catch up with the Immunes they rescued. They weave through hallways upon hallways, the lighting absolutely abysmal, flickering at first and then just cutting out completely. Booms thunder in the distance as they run. They still feel far enough away, but Thomas knows it won’t last.

Eventually, they come to a stairwell, and then Thomas can’t tell if the sounds he’s hearing are nearing explosions or just the patter of thousands of footsteps on concrete as they spiral up the stairs, landing after landing. They follow the line of people through another long hallway, and then _down_ another flight of stairs.

Thomas can’t help checking the map to make sure they’re still going the right way, that someone hasn’t taken a wrong turn and is leading them somewhere else completely. But as far as he can tell, they’re going the right way. He sees the Flat Trans marked not too far ahead of them. If the Chancellor had been lying, surely the four hundred people who survived would be backed up along this hallway with nowhere to go. The Flat Trans must be up there. It has to be.

An explosion sounds somewhere above them, jolting the entire building and throwing everyone in a twenty yard radius crashing to the floor. Dust chokes the air, little pieces of the ceiling cracking off and hitting Thomas in the back. There are sounds of things creaking and breaking, but Thomas can’t tell if it’s ahead of them or behind them.

Thomas reaches out to Minho, checking that he’s not hurt.

“Everybody okay?” he shouts down the hallway.

“Yeah!” someone calls back.

“Keep moving! We’re almost there!”

He helps Minho to his feet, then Chuck. They continue forward.

Thomas hopes that the building will stay in one piece for just a little while longer.

~||~

Several more bombs detonate as they run, spraying debris every which way and causing people to stumble and fall. Thomas helps a young woman to her feet, then stumbles himself. Minho yanks him back up, keeping a hand on his waist as they run.

They pass a man who’d unfortunately stumbled into a jagged piece of pipe, and he lay dead, stomach bloody where the pipe protrudes. They slow down when they see him, but when they realize there’s no saving him, Minho pushes Thomas forward. No time to waste.

There’s a huge warehouse-like room just before they make it to the maintenance room where Chancellor Paige says there’s a Flat Trans. They run through the neat rows of metal racks to an open door on the other side. Thomas and the others reach the door just as last Immune they’d been following disappears into the murky grey square.

The room has a table that’s been pushed to the side, a heap of canvas on the floor next to the Flat Trans that must have been used to keep it hidden.

“There it is,” Thomas says, frozen to the spot. He almost can’t believe it, even after everything Chancellor Paige has done for his friends. She had told the truth. WICKED – the _leader_ of WICKED – had helpedhim.

Newt and Aris come flying through the room behind them. “What the bloody hell are we standing around for?” Newt yells. “Let’s go!”

“Not so fast, boys,” a voice calls from the other side of the room.

Thomas exhales heavily, looking over to Minho in horror. No. Not again.

Thomas turns to see Janson standing on the other side of the room, just inside the open door of the storage room. Several WICKED guards stand behind him. The Right Arm’s weapon disabling device must be still working, because the guards don’t hold Launchers or guns. One holds a rusty pipe, another a long cable wire.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Minho mutters. He shifts his grip around the handle of his knife, crouching into a fighting position.

Everyone beside him follows suit, grabbing whatever weapons they have, some picking up fallen debris from the floor.

It’s nine against seven. Thomas likes those odds. He still has that gun tucked into the small of his back. This time, he’s going to use it.

“I’ve never seen such a menacing bunch of thugs!” the Rat Man shouts, but his face is crazed, mouth contorted in a wild sneer. “I have to admit I’m terrified!” Janson cups his hands around his mouth, shouting over the rumble of another explosion. “Strange place to hide out when everything’s about to come down!” Pieces of metal fall from the ceiling, clattering to the ground.

“You know what’s here, Janson!” Thomas says, stepping up next to Minho at the front of the pack. “It’s over! Just let us go.”

“You know I can’t do that, Thomas!” Rat Man yells, spittle flying. “I’ll get your brain. Whatever it takes, as long as you’re back up there at the end of it.”

“And you know I won’t go with you, Janson,” Thomas replies.

“Then it seems we’re at an impasse!”

The structure around them is crumbling to pieces. It’s getting harder to see Janson and his associates through the clouds of dust that are pushed into the air from chucks of the ceiling and wall that crash to the floor.

Thomas smirks. “I wouldn’t be too sure,” he says quietly.

“Huh?” Rat Man yells.

Thomas whips the gun out from behind him, pointing it directly at Janson.

Janson doesn’t seem the least bit worried. He laughs. “You couldn’t shoot me earlier tonight. What makes you think you can do it now?” He takes on a high-pitched mocking voice. “I’m Thomas, I’m too good to kill pe–”

Thomas fires the gun. A circle of red blooms in the middle of Janson’s forehead, and he falls backward to the floor with a _thump_.

The guards that Janson brought with him seem to deflate. They all look down at his body, then back up at Thomas and his miraculously working gun.

“Anybody else want to die down here?” Thomas shouts.

The guards all seem to look at each other, deciding what to do. Avenge the Assistant Director, or save their own skin?

Thomas shoots the wall directly beside them, and they jump.

“Get out of here!” Thomas yells, and they don’t have to be told twice. They file out the way they came, dropping their makeshift weapons and rushing out of sight.

“Shuck cowards,” Minho spits.

Thomas pats him on the shoulder. “Sorry you didn’t get to stab one of them.”

Minho sighs. “You always get to have all the fun.”

“Um,” Jorge looks between the two boys. “How about we all get through that Flat Trans before this building grinds us into a fine powder?”

“I love the way you think, Jorge,” Chuck says. He’s the first one into the maintenance room, stumbling as the room seems to quake with another explosion, quickly righting himself with the help of a fallen shelf. Newt, Jared, Frypan, and Jorge all follow close behind, barely dodging large chunks of the ceiling as they fall to the ground with terrible ripping sounds.

Debris rains down on Thomas and Minho as they run to the maintenance room. Bombs continue to detonate over and over, seemingly everywhere at once. Thomas falls; Minho jerks him to his feet. A few seconds later Minho falls; Thomas yanks and drags until they’re both running again. Thomas thinks he sees Teresa somewhere to his left, Aris pulling her by an arm.

As soon as they make it into the maintenance room, Thomas sees the tail end of Jorge stepping through. They’re so close, he can taste it.

A splintering, shattering noise splits the air so loudly that Thomas looks back. His eyes drift upward, where a massive section of the ceiling has torn loose. He watches, hypnotized, as it falls towards him and Minho. Without even consciously thinking about it, he puts two palms flat on Minho’s back and pushes him forward with all his strength, sending him straight into the Flat Trans. If it’s going to hit someone, it might as well only get one of them. Thomas runs, but it feels like he’s stuck in place, waiting for the inevitable impact.

But the impact comes from somewhere else entirely – someone slams into the side of his body, sending them both into the far wall, clattering into the table and breaking it in two. The ceiling crashes in the spot Thomas had just occupied. Aris stares down at the huge slab of concrete, having just stopped in time for it to crash to his feet.

Thomas belatedly looks over at who just saved his life, straight into Teresa’s big blue eyes. There’s no time for thanks or even acknowledgement – Aris is yanking at both of their arms until they have their feet under them, and then they’re running.

Minho comes flying out of the Flat Trans from the other side, eyes wild. He sees the ceiling on the floor and then the three teenagers stumbling towards him.

“Come on!” he yells, sprinting to get to Thomas’ side. He almost trips as another rumbling explosion shakes the room, but he grabs Thomas’ arm and hauls it around his neck. The sounds of things crashing and crumbling behind Thomas grow louder, cracks and creaks and squeals of metal and the hollow roar of flames. He knows that in seconds, if they stay here, they’ll all be dead.

All of it rises to an unimaginable pitch; Thomas refuses to look, though he can sense it all coming down around them as if it’s only feet away, its leading edge breathing down his neck. He pushes Teresa and Aris through the Flat Trans. The world is collapsing around him and Minho.

Together, they jump into the icy grey wall.

~||~

Thomas can barely breathe, coughing and spitting up dirt and dust. Him and Minho land on wooden planks in what looks like a small shed. He crawls forward, dragging himself and Minho away from the Flat Trans in case any nasty debris comes flying through.

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas sees Brenda push some buttons on a control panel, and then the grey plane winks out of existence, revealing the cedar planks of the shed wall behind it.

 _How did she know how to do that?_ Thomas wonders.

“What took you guys so long?” she asks, then waves a hand. “Never mind, doesn’t matter. You two need to get out.” There’s an urgency in her tone that Thomas doesn’t understand. They’re safe, aren’t they? “I have to do one last thing.”

Minho is already on his feet, reaching down to help Thomas stand. “My shuck brain can’t spend one more second thinking. Just let her do whatever she wants. Come on.”

The two of them look at each other for a long moment, catching their breath, somehow reliving in those few seconds all the things they’d gone through to get to this point. All the death, all the pain. Mixed in there is some relief, too. That maybe – just maybe – it’s all over.

Together, they step out of the shed, finally seeing where Chancellor Paige had sent them into what she called a new life.

Thomas can only stare. They’d come to a place Thomas had been told didn’t exist anymore. Lush and green and full of vibrant life. They stand at the top of a hill above a field of tall grass and wildflowers. The four hundred or so people they’ve rescued wander the area, some of the small children running and jumping, screaming with laughter. To his right, the hill descends into a valley of towering trees that seem to stretch for miles, ending in a wall of rocky mountains that jut towards the cloudless blue sky. To his left, the grassy field slowly becomes scrub brush and then sand. And then the ocean, its waves big and dark and white tipped as they crash into the beach.

Paradise. Chancellor Paige had sent four hundred Immunes to paradise.

Thomas reaches out for Minho’s hand, lacing their fingers together, squeezing tight.

They hear the door of the shed behind them close and then the woosh of fire. They both turn to see Brenda walking towards them, the entire shed already engulfed in flames.

“Just making sure?” Thomas asks.

“Just making sure,” she repeats.

They three of them walk over to join the group who had stood their ground against Janson and the guards, everyone scraped and bruised from top to bottom.

Brenda jumps into Chuck’s arms, and he spins her around once before setting her back on her feet. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispers. “I wish I could’ve been back there with you, fighting and helping people out of there.”

“It’s okay,” Chuck says with an intimate smile. “You had to lead everyone here. No one would have known the way without you.”

Brenda doesn’t respond, just wraps her arms around Chuck’s neck and raises up onto her tippy toes, pressing her lips to his. Chuck only looks surprised for a split second, then melts into the embrace, holding her close.

Minho lets out a loud wolf whistle, Thomas joining in on the cat call. They’ve gotten their fair share of teasing throughout the years, and now it’s finally payback. Thomas can’t wait.

Chuck finally pulls away, laughing. He slings an arm around Brenda and pulls her into his side. Brenda goes happily.

“We made it, guys,” Chuck tells the group. “We’re safe.”

Just then, the shed crackles and pops, the roof collapsing inwards in a spray of sparks. Everyone flinches, turning to stare at the burning structure.

“Well,” Chuck amends. “We’ll be safe once that fire’s put out.”

“It needs to burn a little longer,” Brenda says.

“My little pyromaniac,” Chuck says with a wide smile, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. Brenda just looks up at him and grins.

Teresa walks over to Thomas and Minho then, a slight smile on her face. Thomas doesn’t even hesitate. He drops Minho’s hand and pulls her into a huge hug, crushing them together.

“Thank you,” Thomas murmurs.

Teresa’s hands clutch his back, fingers digging in almost painfully. She shudders out a breath, and when she speaks, her voice is thick with tears. “You’re welcome.”

Thomas sees Minho out of the corner of his eye, watching as he reaches out a hand and rests it on Teresa’s shoulder. She pulls back in shock, but when she looks into Minho’s eyes, they don’t need to say anything. Teresa nods, placing a hand on top of Minho’s and squeezing his fingers.

“You two don’t need to forgive me if you don’t want to,” Teresa says finally. “Maybe one day. But knowing you two are alive and safe is all I ever could have hoped for.”

She steps away, facing the shed. No one else speaks. The ten of them just watch the fire climb higher until the shed burns to the ground.

~||~

“There’s one more thing,” Brenda says once the shed is just a pile of smoldering embers.

Everyone turns to her.

“And what would that be?” Newt asks.

Brenda just turns to Jorge, who looks out at the teenagers before him, his expression grim. “We see if Chancellor Paige told the entire truth.”

“The entire truth?” Thomas echoes.

Jorge nods once, just a simple jerk of his chin. “Follow me.”

~||~

Jorge leads them through the massive crowd of Immunes. Most of them have congregated in one spot, using ripped fabric to tend to minor wounds. Others are mourning lost family members, and some are joyfully reuniting.

Jorge climbs on top of a huge boulder, cupping his hands and shouting over the din of four hundred people in a small area. “Hello! I need your attention!” Everyone shuts up and turns to Jorge. “I need you all to stay here while my friends and I go check something. We will be back to bring you if we find what we’re looking for. But for right now, I need you all to hang tight. This shouldn’t take too long.”

To Thomas’ surprise, no one protests.

“How long will you be?” one man in the crowd calls out.

“Couple hours at most,” Jorge responds. “If we’re not back by then, assume we’ve been mauled by bears or coyotes.” He steps off of his makeshift podium and turns back to the group.

Frypan immediately puts his hands up. “I’m not getting mauled by a bear tonight, no sir. Have a fun trip without me.”

Jorge nods. “Sure thing, _hermano_. We’ll be back for you. Anyone else want to sit out? I know we’ve had a long day.”

Jorge turns to their group, and people start deliberating about who’s going and who wants to stay behind. Thomas turns back to the crowd of Immunes, not even having to ask Minho if he’s going because he knows they both are already. Among the Immunes, Thomas sees the lady with blonde hair from earlier, the one he handed the young boy off to. She’s talking to a younger woman with long red hair, who is holding the same small child in her arms, bouncing slightly. The blonde-haired lady points to Thomas, and Thomas looks over at the kid, finally reunited with his mother.

The mother raises a hand to her mouth, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. She rushes over to Thomas, pulling him into a one-armed hug. The words she says to him are near gibberish, but Thomas gets the general idea. “Thank you,” she says. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much what you did means to me – thank you, _thank you_.”

Thomas can do nothing but pat her back, holding her as she shakes in his arms.

“Aaron is all I have left,” she continues through racking sobs. “His dad – wasn’t immune. I – I don’t know how he let go of my hand, all of a sudden he was just – gone.”

The kid’s name is Aaron. Thomas tries to swallow past the lump in his throat but can’t.

“It’s okay,” Thomas manages. “I did what anyone would have done.”

The red-haired woman finally pulls back, sniffling. She wipes under her eyes, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You saved his life. _You._ I won’t forget that.” She reaches out, grasping his wrist, squeezing hard once before letting go. “ _Thank you._ ”

“You’re welcome,” Thomas says. He looks down to Aaron, who’s grinning up at him with a hand shoved into his mouth. “Hey, bud,” he says in a soft voice. “I’m glad you made it back to your mom, safe and sound. And hey, I said I’d see you here. I kept my promise.”

The kid looks up at him with his big, innocent eyes, head resting on his mother’s shoulder. “Say thank you, Aaron,” the woman says.

“Tank you,” Aaron repeats, voice muffled around his fingers.

Thomas grins down at the small child. He reaches out a hand, ruffling a hand through his fine blonde hair. “You’re welcome, kiddo.”

The kid just keeps on grinning. His mother hitches him up higher then walks away, turning back to the blonde woman who’s been watching the whole thing from a short distance away.

 _Thank you,_ Thomas mouths to the older woman.

 _Thank_ you, she mouths back, emphasizing the _you_ by pointing to Thomas. She wraps an arm around the mother as she returns, seemingly having taken her under her wing, and they walk further into the crowd, Aaron between them.

Minho looks over to Thomas, a strange expression on his face. “You saved that kid?”

Thomas meets his eyes with a small smile. “Guess so.”

“His name was Aaron.” Minho shakes his head. “What’re the odds?”

Thomas sighs, watching the two women and Aaron disappear into the crowd. “I know. At least we got to save one of them.”

Minho tugs Thomas closer by their linked hands, turning back to their friends. In the end, it’s only Thomas, Minho, Chuck, Brenda, Newt, and Jared who want to find out what the hell Jorge is talking about.

Newt and Chuck are trying to get information out of Brenda, but she maintains that it will all be explained once they get to where they’re going.

Jorge refuses to acknowledge any questions; he just leads them further into the forest. The farther they get, the underbrush they’re picking through makes way to an actual dirt path, and Thomas is immediately confused. The area they had arrived in seemed completely untouched by civilization – a lush, green paradise. Somewhere to rebuild, far away from the Flare-ravaged world. But this is a trail, worn by years of treading through the thick pine trees. Thomas thinks he sees a footprint.

“Jorge, what’s going on?” Thomas asks.

“We’re almost there, _muchachos._ At least, we should be.”

“Let the man murder us in peace, Thomas,” Minho says sarcastically.

Jorge chuckles, ducking under a low-hanging branch and holding it in place for Brenda, who’s right behind him. “If I wanted to kill you, Minho, you’d be dead already,” he says.

Minho huffs a laugh. “Comforting. I’m so glad I’m following you into a dense forest right about now.”

“Oh, you will be,” Jorge assures, enigmatic as ever.

Minho sends a questioning look Thomas’ way, but Thomas just shrugs in response. He wants to see where Jorge is leading them, and what the hell Chancellor Paige has to do with it.

Finally, the path Jorge has been following leads out of the forest and to a large field. Thomas squints. He didn’t see this when he took in the landscape earlier. Are the trees so thick that they concealed this massive green space?

“Well,” Jorge says, seemingly to himself. “Let’s see if it’s here.” He carefully steps forward, a hand raised in front of him. Thomas watches him as he gently waves his hand in the air, stepping forward when he doesn’t find anything.

“Uh–” Chuck starts, but closes his mouth when Brenda elbows him in the side.

Finally, Jorge stops. His hands come up in front of him, raised like they’re pressed into an invisible plane of glass.

Thomas recognizes what it must be immediately. An invisible barrier, just like the kind WICKED used before their second Trial in the Scorch. Thomas rushes forward, hands pressing against the invisible barrier, needing to check it for himself.

“Jorge,” Thomas says, voice pitched in a warning. “What the shuck is WICKED technology doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

Jorge looks over at him, eyes intense. “You need to trust me, _hermano._ ”

Thomas exhales shakily.

Jorge had helped them when it counted, got them out of WICKED and to a safe place. He’d got them to Hans, through Denver, to Newt at the Crank Palace. He’d come with the Right Arm to help save Thomas and the Immunes. Thomas has no reason not to trust him, not after everything they’ve been through.

But still, he casts a glance back at Brenda. She nods.

Thomas steps back, away from the invisible wall. “Alright then,” he says. “I trust you.”

Jorge turns back to the invisible wall, and for a brief moment, his entire expression breaks. Thomas watches as he closes his eyes, pressing his forehead into the barrier, forcing the expressionless mask back on once again. Without raising his head, he knocks on the barrier, a long pattern that Thomas has no hope of following. It takes almost a full minute before Jorge finally drops his hand, the pattern finally complete. Then he takes three large steps back and away from the barrier.

“I’ve heard that knocking pattern before,” Chuck says. “On the Berg.”

“I practice it when I fly, before I go to sleep, during my showers.” Jorge replies, toneless. “So I won’t get it wrong when it counts.”

“And this is when it counts?” Jared asks.

“ _Muchachos_ , you have no idea.”

Something like a clank and a lock disengaging sound throughout the clearing, and a small portion of the invisible barrier swings outward to Thomas’ right. Three large men step through the opening, turning to facing their group of seven, closing the door behind them. They don’t hold any guns or knives, but the absence of weapons does nothing to make them look any less threatening. The one in the middle has a red cloth tied around his head like a bandana, skin dark and weathered, like he’s been out in the sun for ten years straight. He looks like he could snap Jorge in half without even breaking a sweat.

Thomas swallows. Where have these people come from? They appeared out of thin air – Thomas realizes that the barrier must not be invisible after all, maybe some type of holotech that somehow makes this area look like a clearing.

“How do you know about this place?” Bandana asks menacingly. “How did you get here?”

“Chancellor Paige told me she would be contacting you through your secure transmission line to let you know about our arrival,” Jorge replies. ”We have four hundred immune refugees that are looking for a new home.”

The middle one with the bandana sizes Jorge up some more, crossing his massive arms across his broad chest. Finally, he nods to one of his companions. “Get Johnny to check the secure transmissions,” Bandana says, and the guy next to him disappears back through the invisible door, vanishing from sight completely. Thomas stares at the clearing. It’s just like when he and Minho found the Griever Hole, watching the rock chunks disappear from view like magic. The clearing must not be a clearing at all.

“You don’t know if you got the message or not?” Jorge asks, sounding somewhat surprised.

“We don’t exactly check to see if Ava contacts us everyday,” Bandana replies. “It’s usually only once a month, for updates on the outside world.”

Thomas is almost bursting at the seams with questions, but he manages to keep quiet until Bandana’s friend comes back.

“Johnny confirmed that the transmission is from Ava Paige. Approximately four hundred immunes made it out of WICKED headquarters not even an hour ago. She sent them all through a Flat Trans to join us here.”

Bandana immediately bristles. “Tell me you destroyed the Flat Trans control box.”

“Yes,” Brenda says. “I did.”

Bandana narrows his eyes at her, trying to decide whether to believe her or not. “Well, alright then. Where are these four hundred Immunes? They invisible?”

“They’re back at the beach, slinthead,” Minho says.

Jorge sends a warning glare back to Minho, but Minho just rolls his eyes.

“I wanted to make sure that the chancellor was telling the truth about this place before leading four hundred people through the forest,” Jorge says. “Now, please. I need to see Eliana.”

Bandana’s other friend furrows his brow. “Eliana? What do you know about Eliana?”

“So she _is_ here? Please,” Jorge presses. “I need to see her.”

Bandana looks at Jorge for a long moment, eyes bright and perceptive. “Ava vouched for you, so I’ll bring you guys through. You can see Eliana, and then you can bring the Immunes in. Come on.”

The man gestures for them to come forward, and one of his friends opens the invisible door, waving them through.

Thomas almost freezes when he sees what’s on the other side. Because right in front of his eyes is what looks like a large community of people, bustling about and going about their daily activities. It stretches for what looks like miles, rows upon rows of small houses and walkways. It’s nothing like what Denver had been, no paved roads or cars or streetlights. Everything looks homemade, built entirely from scratch.

Bandana leads them through the disperse area, weaving around houses and small buildings. His friends eventually break off from the pack, seamlessly joining other groups of people as the seven of them traipse along the worn paths.

Thomas can’t get over how many people are here. There’s a woman hanging up laundry in front of what must be her house. Another woman carries fruit in a wicker basket, walking past them, back down the way they came. Kids run alongside them as they walk, looking curiously at the newcomers and whispering to their friends. The area is filled with the chatter of people talking to each other, the noises of children laughing and playing in the distance. What does Chancellor Paige have to do with all this?

Thomas looks back at his friends, who are also all marvelling at the sight. Chuck’s eyes are wide and awe-struck, and even Newt and Jared look stunned. Minho just looks confused, watching as a man walks past them with a toddler on his shoulders.

The community reminds him of the Glade in some ways – busy and lively, but organized throughout the chaos. Brenda meets his gaze and smiles. He opens his mouth with what is sure to be a plethora of questions, but she just raises a finger to her lips, cutting him off. He gives her an exasperated look. Brenda laces her fingers with Chuck, swinging their hands between them, looking out at the community of people happily.

Finally, they come to a stop at what looks like a log cabin. There’s three steps up to a small porch, and the shoddy workmanship makes Thomas think of the stairs in the Homestead. Terrible and patched together, looking like it could fall apart at any moment, but functional nonetheless.

“Wait here,” Bandana says, and he clambers up the steps and knocks on the door.

Thomas can’t hold in his questions any longer. He sidles up next to Jorge and asks, “Who’s Eliana? What’s here?”

Jorge is looking up at the cabin, and Thomas is shocked to see that tears are forming in the corners of his eyes. His chin trembles as he speaks. “My wife.”

~||~

Before Thomas can even react to Jorge’s response, the door of the cabin is creaking open. The hulking figure of Bandana covers the entirety of the opening, blocking whoever had answered the door.

“There’s someone here to see you,” Bandana says.

“What? Since when do you escort any visitors to my front door, Brian?” It’s a woman who speaks, Thomas can tell that much, her voice lilting and melodic with a Spanish accent. Jorge’s breath hitches from beside him.

“They came from the other side of the wall,” Brian replies. “Ava sent a new group of Immunes.”

“ _What?_ Did Ava tell us that they were–”

A hand wraps around Brian’s thick arm and pushes him out of the way. There’s a woman standing on the other side; her hair is long, packed together in tight coils, her eyes dark. She’s wearing a dress that flaps in the slight breeze, but is barefoot. In one hand, she’s holding what looks like a rag, maybe used for cleaning or drying dishes.

She spots Jorge immediately. The cloth falls to the cedar planks below.

“Jorge?” she asks, barely audible.

“ _Mi amor,_ ” Jorge breathes. They’re pulled together as if by a magnet; Eliana flings herself off the porch and straight into Jorge’s waiting arms. His arms wrap around her and cling tight, and he buries his face into her hair. Thomas can just make out the faint sobs coming from both of them.

They start talking to each other in rapid Spanish, words that Thomas has no hope of following. The four boys turn to Brenda.

“What the shuck is going on?” Minho asks.

“When Jorge and I met in Alaska, his wife had just gone missing,” Brenda starts to explain. “No one ever really knew what happened to her, but we could assume.”

“WICKED.” Newt and Jared say the despicable word at the same time, meeting each other’s eyes in surprise.

“Bingo,” Brenda replies. “Eliana is a brilliant engineer – WICKED probably wanted her for her skillset. So we followed some leads as best we could, then determined that we needed to go work for WICKED. But by the time we got there, Eliana was already gone. Eventually, Chancellor Paige finally let us know about her operation – helping Immunes escape one by one into a place untouched by the sun flares or the virus. A new beginning.” She turns to Thomas. “You think you’re the only one she helped? She’s been doing this for years.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Thomas whispers.

“Paige told us that she needed Jorge and I – that we would help you in the Scorch, then help you escape WICKED. And at the end of it all, she’d send us here. To Eliana.” Brenda turns to Jorge and his wife, who are crying and laughing and kissing all at the same time. “It was a gamble, but look where we ended up. They haven’t seen each other in over five years.”

It sounds like Eliana asks Jorge a question, and then he finally straightens up, wiping under his eyes. He looks happier than Thomas has ever seen him, his eyes practically glittering.

“This is Brenda, she became something like my _sobrina._ She helped me find you,” Jorge says, grinning at Brenda.

Brenda smiles back like she just can’t help it. She rushes forward and bundles Eliana up into a huge hug. She says, “ _Estoy tan contenta de conocerte finalmente, he oído mucho sobre ti_ ,” and then pulls back with a laugh. “That’s all I know in Spanish. I made Jorge teach me for when I finally met you.”

Eliana stares at Brenda, but finally manages, “Flawless accent. You had a great teacher.”

“I did.”

Jorge gestures to the rest of the gang. “And then the _muchachos._ Chuck, Newt, Jared, Thomas, and Minho.”

“Nice to meet you,” Thomas says.

“Likewise,” Eliana responds. She still seems shellshocked, like she’ll wake up soon and this will all have been a dream. She turns back to Jorge. “I can’t believe you’re here, that you’re ac–”

There’s a noise from up on the porch, and a small boy who can’t be much older than five years old peeks around the doorframe.

“ _Mamá_?” the child says hesitantly. “Who was at the door?” He steps farther out, onto the porch, and there’s a rush of air beside Thomas; he looks down to see that Jorge has fallen to his knees, looking up at the child with wide eyes. Thomas glances back up at the kid and almost falls down himself. That boy is the spitting image of Jorge.

“Sebastián!” she says, spinning around. “This is–”

“ _Papá!_ ” The child comes flying down the stairs and launches himself at Jorge. They almost go sprawling back onto the grass behind them from the sheer force.

Jorge starts crying all over again, looking up to Eliana, holding the boy close. “How– How is this possible?”

Eliana drops to her knees and shuffles close to her husband and son. Tears stream down her cheeks as she wraps her arms around both of them. “I was pregnant when WICKED got me – I didn’t know until it was too late. Ava talked to me before he was born and said she had a safe place for him to grow up – and so I went.” Through sniffles, she continues. “I – I tried to get you here with me, _mi amor_ , I did, I swear. But there just wasn’t enough time – she told me you had gone off grid and that she’d keep on looking. And here you are.”

“How does he know who I am?” Jorge asks.

“I had a picture of you and I in my wallet the day I was taken. It was confiscated at first, but Ava got it back before she sent me through the Flat Trans. So Sebastián would know who his father is.”

Jorge pulls away from the embrace, then presses a rough kiss to the child’s forehead. “I love you, _hijo. Te quiero mucho._ ”

“I love you too, _papá._ ”

Thomas watches as Jorge is reunited with his family. He can’t help the tears that spill over, and Minho tugs him closer with a strong arm around his waist.

Chuck is full on sobbing into Brenda’s shoulder off to the side, and Newt is there patting him on the back.

“We should probably go get the rest of the Immunes,” Jared says quietly.

“Let’s…” Thomas takes a deep breath. “Let’s give them a moment, first.”

“You mean give _you_ a moment,” Minho says.

Thomas sends him a dirty look, wiping his fallen tears away. “Shut up.”

~||~

It doesn’t take too long to walk back down the trail of the forest and find the rest of the Immunes. Thomas and the others – plus Eliana and Sebastián – lead them back to the Immune camp.

“Is there going to be enough room for everyone?” Thomas asks Eliana. Her and Jorge are practically in each other’s pockets as they walk side by side. Jorge carries Sebastián on his hip, murmuring to him in Spanish.

“Oh yes,” Eliana replies. “The camp started out small in the very beginning – years ago now, way before I joined. But it’s grown tenfold. You only saw a small portion of it as you came in. The community is massive, and we have builders making new houses as we speak.”

“Builders?” a Glader echoes from behind them. “Get me on a building committee, _please._ I miss it so much.”

Eliana laughs at the boy’s eagerness. “I’m sure they would welcome some extra hands.”

“Awesome,” he grins.

“What about a kitchen?” Frypan asks. “I need to cook. I _need_ to cook something, or I think I’m going to go crazy.”

“Our cooks would love to have you,” Eliana assures him.

Frypan laughs happily. “Finally, a homecooked meal. Get ready for a Frypan special tonight, lads.”

“Can’t wait,” Jared grins.

But Thomas still has so many questions.

“How long has Chancellor Paige been doing this?” Thomas asks.

Eliana smiles at that. “Long enough that most of the people don’t know her as the chancellor. Just Ava. Seems she’s risen up through the ranks. I hope she is able to turn WICKED around – back to their original goal of finding the cure.”

“Things are bad, _mi amor_ ,” Jorge says. “So much worse than they were five years ago. Cities are crumbling without Immunes and the Flare is completely out of control.”

Eliana sighs. “Yes, she let us know about the mass abductions of Immunes several months ago, and that she was hoping to somehow rescue them eventually. She told us to be ready, but that she didn’t know exactly when everyone would be coming through.” She turns to Thomas. “Hence why we have plenty of room. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“How often do you get new people?” Thomas asks.

“A few people here and there. A large group usually once a year, but nothing of this magnitude. We just got two more people a couple of days ago, actually. A former WICKED neurosurgeon and his wife.”

Minho does a double take. “Hans? Hans is here?”

“So you know him,” Eliana says. “He’s such a nice man. He’ll be a real help in our community.”

“Perfect,” Brenda says. “That means he’ll be able to get WICKED’s controlling device out of your brain, Newt.”

“Wonderful,” Newt says dryly. “Can’t wait.”

“It’s not that bad, Newt,” Chuck says. “He can knock you out first, if you want.”

“You’re making it sound better by the second,” Newt replies.

“Think of it as payback for what you put us – your _best friends_ – through,” Minho says without compassion. “I haven’t forgiven you yet.”

“Chuckie has,” Newt grins.

“Chuck!” Thomas turns on Chuck.

“What! I can’t stay mad at Newt, you and Minho _know_ that.”

Thomas crosses his arms, grumbling.

Newt leans over, wrapping an arm around Thomas’ shoulder as they pick their way through the forest. “You and Minho can be as bloody sore as you want about it. But we’re all here, and we’re all alive.” A dark look passes over his face then. “Well. Most of us. But we’re in buggin’ paradise. I know that deep inside you’re just happy I’m not dead on a highway somewhere.”

“Of course I’m glad you’re not _dead,_ Newt.” Thomas pauses. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking more about it, and what I don’t get is why you left that stupid note on the Berg, the one about _thanks for being my friends,_ and _good-bye,_ when you could’ve just said ‘don’t come for me’ and saved us a whole lot of hassle.”

Newt does look a little sheepish at that. “The people asked me if I wanted to write a note! It felt weird to say no. And as for what I wrote, I honestly don’t remember. I kinda blacked out. Too busy psyching myself up to act buggin’ crazy and hoping I wouldn’t die a terrible death.”

“You’re such a stupid shank,” Thomas says with a smile, pushing Newt away.

“I still can’t believe you did what Chancellor Paige wanted,” Minho says.

Newt raises his eyebrows, looking down at the forest floor. “Me neither, honestly.”

“Paige is a very persuasive lady,” Brenda tells them.

“That she is, Brenda,” Eliana says. “That she is.”

~||~

The Immunes settle surprisingly well into the new space. Other people from the community come and greet them, taking groups of several people at a time and giving them a tour of the village. Thomas is told by Eliana that families will be given first priority when it comes to the houses that are already built, and that it might be a while before he gets one of his own.

Minho just wraps an arm around Thomas’ shoulders and says, “Lady, just give us a hammock and two trees and we’ll be right as rain.”

Eliana looks between Thomas and Minho, eyes slightly narrowed like she’s just realizing _exactly_ how close they are to each other. “A hammock and two trees, you say? That can be arranged.”

Minho grins at her, toothy and wide. “Perfect.”

~||~

A few hours later, Eliana finds Thomas and Minho as they’re learning about how power and water are generated in the commune. The village isn’t completely without technology, since they were originally started up by Ava Paige, which is why much of it resembles WICKED’s technology. They have solar panels and rainwater storage and backup generators that store excess energy. There are compost bins that line the walkway farther into the village, used for their multitude of crops. Thomas looks over the huge garden patch and feels a sharp pang for Zart, taken by a Griever just before they had escaped the Maze. He would’ve loved it here.

Eliana steps up near them and holds out a bundle of soft material. Minho takes it without question. The penny doesn’t drop that it’s the hammock she had promised them until she says, “Now all you need is two trees. If you hang it up in someone’s backyard, just please let them know beforehand. We don’t need residents to be scared when they look out their back windows.”

She walks away without another word.

“Thanks!” Thomas calls.

She just waves a hand, disappearing down the hill.

~||~

Thomas gets lost trying to find Eliana’s cabin three times before he has to ask someone for directions. Minho is off with Newt and Jared doing who-knows-what, and Thomas is itching to explore.

He knocks on Eliana’s door, then peeks his head in. Eliana and Jorge are there with Sebastián, talking quietly.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Thomas says. “But are we allowed to leave through those barriers you’ve put up?”

Eliana laughs. “Of course, Thomas. This isn’t a prison. You know the way out?”

Thomas smirks. “Nope. See you later. Bye, Jorge.”

“Bye, Thomas. Be safe.”

~||~

After a couple hours of exploring, Thomas finds himself sat atop of a cliff overlooking the ocean, his feet dangling over the edge. He watches distantly as the waves crash into the rock face beneath him, the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon.

Even after everything that’s happened, all the death and pain and destruction, Thomas finds it peaceful.

“Don’t jump.”

Thomas looks down at his hands, smiling to himself. He remembers Minho saying those same words to him on a different cliff, on a different day, in a different life. It was the day Minho kissed him for the first time. Thomas’ heart aches with the heavy knowledge of everything that’s happened since then, but can only settle on feeling terribly grateful that they’ve ended up here, in paradise, together.

Thomas looks over his shoulder at Minho, lips curled in a soft smile. “I couldn’t leave you here by yourself,” he says, recalling the words he’d said to Minho all those months ago. “You wouldn’t last a day.”

Minho clambers up onto the rock edge next to Thomas, sitting so they’re pressed right up against one another. He looks over at Thomas, his eyes intense. The low rays of the sunset ignite Minho in a devastating wash of orange and pink and purple, and he says softly, “No, I probably wouldn’t.”

Thomas barely has to lean forward before they’re kissing, lips ghosting over one another before one or both of them press harder, mouths opening and tongues melding. They sink into one another easily. Minho’s hand comes to cradle Thomas’ jaw; Thomas winds his fingers into Minho’s thick hair and pulls him closer. They stay like that for minutes or hours, learning and relearning all they know about each other, everything that the two years they’ve had together has given them.

Eventually, they pull back, breath quietly mingling before turning towards the setting sun.

“How’d you find me?” Thomas asks quietly.

“You’re more predictable than you think,” Minho responds. “And Eliana told me that you went to explore. Had to hang up our hammock all by myself.”

“As if Chuck didn’t help you,” Thomas scoffs.

Minho grins. “Maybe a little. I had him and Brenda cuddle in it so I could tell how low it was to the ground with two people in it.”

“You love torturing that kid, don’t you,” Thomas says, and it isn’t a question.

“Chuck’s my favourite to tease,” Minho says with a snicker. “His face gets so red.”

Thomas can’t help but laugh at the mental image. “Yeah, it does.”

They’re silent for a moment longer, the crashing waves below them the only sound filling the air.

“I have a question,” Minho says suddenly, the words rushing out like he’s been working up the nerve and just barely got the sentence past his teeth.

Thomas looks over at him with furrowed brows, but Minho is staring pointedly at the horizon. “When have you ever asked me if you could ask a question?”

“I didn’t _ask_ you,” Minho says, exasperated.

“When have you ever _told me,_ then?”

Minho huffs, his shoulders slumping, looking down and away. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“No, Minho, I’m sorry.” Thomas grabs Minho’s hand away from where he’s been wringing them together. “What’s your question?”

“Well, I guess it’s not exactly a question… more like… shuck, I don’t know. I’m just going to say it.”

Now Thomas is starting to get nervous. “What is it?”

Minho takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “Remember when we were back at WICKED, in that room with Chuck and Newt?”

“Yeah,” Thomas says, getting more confused by the minute.

“And we were joking about getting married and having kids?”

Thomas stares at the side of Minho’s face, wondering where he’s going with this.

Minho finally looks over to him, eyes wide and vulnerable. “What if I don’t want it to be a joke?”

Thomas feels like he’s just swallowed his tongue. He opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it again. Closes it. “Are you–”

“No, this ain’t a shuck proposal,” Minho says immediately. “Give me _some_ credit. It’s just – seeing that kid you saved, Aaron, and Jorge and Eliana and their son… I just want to know if… _when_ I do propose _,_ if… if you want that. With me.”

Minho looks away, like he’s afraid that Thomas is going to say _no._ What a dumb shank.

“You’re a dumb shank,” Thomas says.

Minho’s gaze snaps back up to Thomas, immediately indignant. “If you don’t want to, then–”

Thomas grabs Minho’s face between both of his hands, effectively cutting Minho off. He waits until Minho finally looks into his eyes.

“Minho,” Thomas says seriously. “I would marry you tomorrow. Shuck, I’d marry you tonight. When you ask, the answer will be yes. You don’t need to worry about that. You will _never_ have to worry about that.”

Minho holds his gaze. “But?”

“Kids come later. _Much_ later.”

Minho finally breaks into a grin, eyes crinkling. “Agreed. We’ll have time.”

Thomas tips their foreheads together. In that moment, the time stretches out in front of them, and Thomas can see it – their wedding night, surrounded by friends and family. Their child swaddled in a pink blanket, looking suspiciously like a dream he had not too long ago. Watching Aaron grow up into a young man. Swimming in the ocean with Minho. Brenda and Chuck building their own family. Everyone living happily and unapologetically in this paradise they’ve found themselves in.

Thomas pulls back, smiling at Minho so widely that his cheeks are starting to hurt. “We’ll have time.”

Minho wraps an arm around Thomas’ waist, drawing him impossibly closer as they watch the last wink of the sun’s light vanish below the horizon.

~||~

By the time Thomas and Minho get back to camp, it’s dark. They follow the sounds of familiar laughter, right to Jorge and Eliana’s backyard. It seems like everyone is circled around the wood-burning fire that’s been set up – Teresa, Aris, Newt, Jared, Chuck, Brenda, Frypan. Even Sebastián is still awake, tucked into his father’s arms as he blinks slowly into the fire.

“You need some new friends, Jorge,” Minho says as him and Thomas step into the light, hands clasped between them. “Some people that aren’t shanky teenagers shucked in the head.”

Jorge laughs, the sound rumbling and pleasant. “I’ve got time,” he says in response.

Thomas looks over at Minho at the familiar words, and grins at the way Minho is looking back at him like a promise.

“Pull up some chairs,” Eliana says. She points to the side of the house, and Thomas dutifully follows her directions and comes back with two wooden chairs, rough and homemade.

Minho looks at them doubtfully. “Those safe to sit in? I won’t get a splinter in my butt?”

“Made ‘em myself,” she says.

“That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence, lady,” Minho says, but he takes the chair Thomas hands him.

Chuck makes some room next to his chair as he scoots closer to Brenda. Newt rolls his eyes as that leaves him to push his chair away from Chuck and closer to Jared, making enough room for two more chairs. Thomas and Minho sit down happily.

Thomas does a double take as he sees Newt properly in the fire’s light. When Newt first came into the Glade, his hair had been near his shoulders. Over the year and half he’d been there, it had only grown longer, down past his collarbones. Even when Thomas and Minho had told him that it would be more practical to keep his hair out of his face as a Runner, Newt had never listened, keeping it stubbornly down. But now, in the dim light of the fire, his hair is pulled back from his face, wrapped over itself into a bun at the base of his skull. 

“Newt,” Thomas manages, barely audible. “Your hair.”

Newt grins up at him, sharp in the low light. “Like it, ya shank?”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Minho says, finally noticing.

“I’ve… I’ve never seen your face before,” Thomas says. “You… you have a jawline! An actual jawline! Minho, look! Look at his jawline.”

Minho sends Thomas an unimpressed glare. “Well, don’t seem too enthralled by it,” he grumbles.

“Don’t worry, Minho,” Newt says. “Your cheekbones could cut glass.”

Thomas looks over at Minho solemnly. “They really could, babe.”

Minho seems to be pacified slightly by this, sinking back into his chair. The conversation picks up around them; Teresa and Aris are chatting quietly, Eliana leaning into Jorge, Minho turning to the discussion that Chuck and Brenda are having with Frypan.

“It looks good,” Jared says quietly from beside Newt. Jared looks comfortable here, slouched down into his own chair, grin sloping. Thomas notices that his southern accent is much more prominent when he’s relaxed.

“Oh, yeah?” Newt asks. “The hair or the jawline?”

The corner of Jared’s mouth tips upwards, just slightly. “Both,” he says.

Newt holds Jared’s gaze for a long time, eyes dark and searching. Jared just looks back, lazy smirk in place, challenging.

“Thanks,” Newt says finally, then turns back to the group without another word.

They talk about everything and nothing, somehow all at once. Jorge and Eliana eventually leave to put Sebastián to bed, telling the rest of the teenagers to stay as long as they want, but to make sure the fire is put out once they’re done.

Thomas looks out at his friends with a smile on his face. After two years in the Maze and two weeks in the Scorch and their adventure through Denver, who would have thought that they would end up here? Secluded in a little slice of paradise, reunited with friends and family.

Teresa catches his eye across the way, blue eyes bright above the fire. She just smiles at him, and in that smile is the acknowledgement of everything that’s happened between them, an apology and a promise to do better all in one. In that moment, Thomas realizes that he believes her, that he forgives her.

Beside her, Frypan and Aris are slumped against one another, holding each other up as their eyelids seem to get heavier and heavier.

Newt and Jared are talking to each other in low tones – Thomas would do _anything_ to hear what they’re talking about, but he gets distracted by Chuck and Brenda standing up.

“We’re off,” Chuck announces.

“And where are you going?” Minho asks.

“We’re staying with Jorge and Eliana for the time being,” Brenda replies. “Don’t want to wake them up if we stay out any longer. Sleep tight, everyone.”

“See you tomorrow,” Thomas says, and then Chuck is tugging Brenda along behind him, disappearing into the shadows.

Aris and Frypan have shaken themselves awake, also bidding everyone a goodnight before ducking away. Teresa squeezes Thomas’ shoulder with a tired grin before following.

Jared and Newt seem to realize at the same time that almost everyone has left already, their bubble finally popping.

“Is it bedtime already?” Newt asks, eyeing the empty chairs around them.

Minho smirks at Newt. “Guess so.”

“Slinthead,” Newt says.

“Shank,” Minho retorts.

“ _Okay,_ ” Jared says with a slight laugh. “I’ll take that as my cue to leave.” He turns back to Newt. “One of the villagers offered me a place to stay, wanna come with?”

Newt looks at him the same way he did earlier, mouth pursed and eyes curious. But he finally stands up and says, “Sure. See you later, shuckfaces,” and then him and Jared are gone.

“What’s going on with _them?_ ” Minho asks.

Thomas just shakes his head. “I don’t know, man, don’t ask me.”

He takes the pail of rainwater that’s resting against the side of the house and pours a bit into the fire, watching as it immediately smokes out, wisps dancing into the trees above them. He puts the bucket back where he found it, then holds out a hand to Minho.

Minho takes his hand, but instead of using it to get to his feet, he tugs Thomas closer until he’s straddling his lap. A pleased sound makes its way into Thomas’ throat as Minho rucks up the bottom of Thomas’ shirt, warm hands sliding on scarred skin.

“I love you, you know that?” Thomas says, grinning down at Minho.

Minho hums, nosing up the column of his throat, pressing kisses as he goes. “I know,” he says. “I love you, too.”

“Come to bed,” Thomas murmurs.

“You don’t even know where it is,” Minho tells him.

“Then take me to bed,” Thomas says.

Minho does just that. He grips the backs of Thomas’ thighs, then stands; Thomas wraps his legs around Minho’s waist. He carries Thomas through a small copse of trees to the hammock he had set up with Chuck and Brenda, dumping him into the fabric. Thomas stretches out into the hammock, looking up at the stars above him.

“This is a nice spot,” Thomas says.

“Thought you’d like it,” Minho replies.

Thomas glances over at Minho, who’s standing above him with his hands on his hips, looking up at the starry sky. He wiggles over as much as he can to make room for Minho, then says, “Come on. Let’s sleep.”

Minho climbs in, curling up next to him, face nestled into Thomas’ neck.

Thomas closes his eyes, pulling Minho closer. As their breaths even out, slowing, falling closer and closer to sleep, it all sinks in. The Gladers have finally done it. They found their way out of the Maze, out of the Scorch, away from the tight clutches of WICKED. They’re safe, their little dysfunctional family. They’re all safe, and they’re all going to be alright.

It’s been a perfect night, Thomas thinks. He can’t wait for every single one that comes next.

~||~

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> And there is it. The end. I hope you enjoyed :) 
> 
> If you have any prompts or ideas of any short follow-up fics in this 'verse PLEASE send them my way, I don't want to leave these characters alone just yet. Hit me up either in the comments section or at my tumblr @theyweretooyoung.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around this long! I love you all. <3


End file.
